


The Price of Beauty

by sparklight



Series: Courting Ganymede [1]
Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore
Genre: Drama, Dubcon Kissing, Family Fluff, Kidnapping, Multi, Non-Consensual Kissing, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23032336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklight/pseuds/sparklight
Summary: Is, sometimes, love. After a couple false starts and unwanted shenanigans, that is.From birth to the (final) abduction, Ganymede's family have different sort of worries and concerns depending on who they are and their relationship to him while Ganymede himself has a slightly shocking sexual awakening.
Relationships: Ganymede/Eos (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Ganymede/Minos (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Ganymede/Zeus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Series: Courting Ganymede [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672690
Comments: 28
Kudos: 90





	1. Prologue - The River Gods

**Author's Note:**

> For those curious, this fic incorporates half of a rare variation where Eos kidnaps Ganymede first, as well as one of the rationalizations of the myth in the _Suda_.

A spring shower early in the fifth month heralded the arrival of Queen Callirrhoe and King Tros' fourth child, and further blessing the house with a third son. Squalling protests filled the room, echoing out into the room beyond where the birth was taking place and even the corridor outside. The doors were not closed all the way, and so the father and the two river gods waiting to welcome the newest arrival of Dardanos' line to the world overheard the midwives all coo about _what a pretty baby, never seen such a cute one_.

Familiar words; each of the previous three children had been gushed over in the same manner, and so, too, were all the children of Tros' brother also praised when born. The divine blood, as well as the luck of human beauty, certainly bred very true in Dardanus' and now also Troy's royal houses. Still, as Simoeis took the swaddled baby from his grandson, he had to admit that, maybe, this time there was cause for the words.

Well.

As much as there could ever be cause for such words when it came to a newly-washed, angrily pink-skinned and thoroughly offended newborn who was not pleased at his new existence outside of the warm protection of his mother's womb. Still, as Simoeis looked up to meet Xanthos' river-green eyes and handed his newest grandson over to him, he could see the same conclusion in his expression as well. It was obvious in how it was carried through in the very careful breath over the baby's soft skull, stirring the wispy halo of baby-fine curls and the precise kiss to his forehead. If the promise here was carried out, there would be a price to pay. There always was.

"What's his name, then?" Simoeis turned back to Tros, his apprehension warmed into a smile watching the father's soft-eyed look and tiny smile down at his newborn son, who was now starting to fuss.

"Ganymede," Tros said as he took the baby back, dropping his own kiss to the forehead of the newest prince of Troy before he brought him back to his mother, where he latched on with abandon to the breast presented. Here, there were no differences to any other newborn baby.

With luck, the river gods' concern would not be fulfilled.


	2. A Mother's Worry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ganymede is five, and Callirrhoe goes searching for her disappeared son.

At the very least luck kept all the children hale and growing, four becoming five when Ganymede was three, and Callirrhoe thought herself both blessed and cursed to have given birth to a second daughter next to her three sons. Blessed, for a daughter was a precious gift, but also cursed, for the life of any daughter could potentially be terrible. Especially so mortal ones... Sometimes she wondered what she'd thought, going along with this and not just disappearing for a bit when her father presented Tros to her. If nothing else to avoid heartache and the eventual fate of any mortal; even ones that had begun as long-lived nymphs were doomed to a shorter life when they fully immersed themselves in human life.

But that was, if nothing else, years into the future, as much as her daughters' potential sorrows were. At the moment she was enjoying Cleomestra's quiet babbling to herself in the crib, not quite yet two, and her nurse sitting quietly beside her while nine year old Cleopatra was _attempting_ to appear to attending to her own carding. 

She was... reasonably successful at at least appearing to be doing some work, so for the moment she would say nothing. The girl had quick fingers and was attentive of her work when she did it, so some leniency would hurt nothing. Particularly so this warm spring day, all the windows in the room open to allow in the breeze from the ocean, salty even at this distance, but lacking the smell of rotten seaweed and fish that lingered closer to the harbour.

It was, honestly, as perfect a moment as it could be.

"My lady?"

Looking up, Callirrhoe arched an eyebrow as she put her carding down in her lap, frowning when she realized it was Ganymede's nurse standing in the doorway, with another maid just barely in view.

"Yes?" She tried to let nothing but questioning expectation into her voice, but when no Ganymede came barreling into the room past the nurse and she couldn't hear him in the corridor outside, she couldn't help the instant twist of nervousness in her gut. There was no reason to, _really_ ; her youngest son was sweet-tempered and usually well-behaved, but...

"... Is the little prince in here with you?"

Damning. The little twist turned into a swoop, and Callirrhoe stood up.

"No. I'll come with you to look."

Because Ganymede might be well-behaved, but he also liked to explore, and tended to go where he shouldn't, or where it wasn't safe. Further... as much as she was borrowing future worries when it came to her daughters, some of that concern was definitely reserved for Ganymede as well. He was the cutest child she'd ever laid her eyes on; round-cheeked and bright-eyed, having turned sparkling green shortly after his birth, like her own and reminding much of both her father's and Simoeis' that way (and not even honey-sticky fingers could detract from the picture); his thickening curls a perfect cloudy halo around his head aside from in the mornings, perfect, child-chubby limbs ending with the most darling hands and feet.

She wished she could be exaggerating, that it was all a mother's star-struck love for her precious youngest son, but the older Ganymede got, baby cuteness was filling out not just with personality, but real beauty. Even this young.

The world was never kind to the pretty ones, and Callirrhoe feared the years for Ganymede more than for Cleopatra and Cleomestra, no matter that they, too, were certainly showing the beauty the line of Dardanos might as well be famous for by now. Cleopatra more than her youngest, of course. Assaracus and Ilus were certainly shining examples of perfect boyhood, darling and daring in turns, breathlessly stunning even before they had grown old enough to grow beards. And yet... there were clear differences between her two oldest sons and her youngest one.

Exhaling, Callirrhoe shook her head. She should not be borrowing trouble like this. Ganymede was five, loved honey cakes, jam of the fruit from the strawberry tree and to give people flowers - and sometimes to toss a ball at someone's unsuspecting back, giggling up a storm and then trying to look innocent when he was turned upon. It was fine. She would find him---

"Ganymede? Darling, no, what's _wrong_?"

Lengthening her steps, Callirrhoe took the last few running before she squatted next to her sniffling baby boy, hidden in her and Tros' bedroom. Pulling him close, she stroked the soft fluff of his hair.

"Th-they wouldn't _lis_ -listen!"

She had a split view of green eyes swimming with tears, his long eyelashes spiky and face pink - and not just from crying. There was a conspicuous swollen spot on Ganymede's left cheek that was a forming bruise.

"Who wouldn't listen?" It was very hard, to sound nothing but encouraging while she rubbed Ganymede's heaving shoulders and back while he wet her dress at the chest, but there was an unreasonable fury bubbling up within. Callirrhoe knew it would have to go nowhere.

"P-paris an' Niko and---" More sniffling hiccups breaking up the rest, but she could imagine what had happened now and stifled a sigh, sitting down in an inelegant heap on the floor so she could haul her sobbing boy into her lap more properly.

"A fight?"

Her answer was a nod, curls not yet summer-bleached into dark gold bouncing with the movement, and Callirrhoe started to sway a little, humming a song much familiar to her. Of course it'd been a fight. And of course it wasn't even a fight Ganymede had had part in - well, rarely he did, admittedly - it was just a fight he'd been trying to mediate instead of, as most boys would, join in on the side of the friend they liked better, or thought was right, or... any number of reasons. She would rather wish, though not with any real weight to it, that Ganymede was a little more physically reactive instead of choosing his words instead. Most of the time, even when his 'opponents' were children his own age, he just wasn't old enough to be convincing, no matter how earnest and fair-minded he naturally and sometimes surprisingly, was. Perhaps when he was older he would be able to wield his words as weapons and bend anyone to his desires as well as smooth ruffled pride or opinion, but for now...

"Hush, darling, it's all right. Let me kiss your cheek better, okay?" Hauling him up closer against her, grunting quietly even when she wasn't even carrying him so much as just pulling on his weight, Callirrhoe gently cradled Ganymede's soft, tear-streaked little face and kissed the darkening bruise. If only he had been fighting, she could at least have commended him on his 'battle trophy' before urging him to _not_ fight. What was she to do with this, then, other than try to kiss it better? "They'll listen next time, you'll see."

Maybe.

Shiny green eyes, so very, very large, turned up towards her and Ganymede blinked couple tears out of the way and sniffed loudly. Pouted, and while it wrung her heart as a mother, it would surely have been deadly against anyone.

"Y'think so?"

"Oh, darling." Kissing his forehead, nose and then his bruised cheek again until she could see the hint of a little smile pulling those perfect rosebud lips, Callirrhoe sighed and hugged him close, wrapping her arms around him as child-pudgy arms came up around her neck. Ganymede’s hands half chocked her as they buried into her curls and surely messed up the carefully collected and bound tresses spilling down her back, but what did that matter? "I _know_ so."

So soft, all of him. How was she to protect her precious little prince from the world when he would have to go out in it, one way or another? He might have two older brothers, but Ganymede would have a place to play in Troy's protection as well, and that would put him in the path of many, many spears, both literal and not. Sighing, she started singing again, and when her husband poked his head through the door later, a question on the tip of tongue which turned into a relieved smile, she stood up and let him take their sleeping youngest son from her.


	3. Older Brothers (Can Be Very Exasperating)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ganymede interrupts Assaracus and Ilus while they're sparring.

The courtyard rang with noise as if someone was dropping a handful of firewood down onto the stones, one or two sticks at a time. It was soothing, after all the bleating he'd been forced to listen to for half the day. Assaracus grunted as his wooden training sword locked with Ilus' and they strained against each other, glowering past the interlocked blades. Sweat made his eyes burn, but he was stubborn - Ilus was just a little taller, a little stronger as of yet, which was where most of his advantage still lay, for he was not the _better_ of the two of them.

Still, he was the one who set Assaracus staggering back from their stand-off, not Assaracus making Ilus lose his balance. Setting his jaw, he circled his brother, lips pursed in thought as he watched Ilus' guard and footwork both. Getting some actual exercise after tutoring and _guarding sheep_ like he was a common shepherd was a boon, though, so Assaracus was dragging this out as long as possible for that alone, and not just for the practice or attempting to win. _Sheep_. Why was he guarding _sheep_? No matter if it was traditional for all the royal sons of the house of Dardanos to do so upon reaching fourteen years of age. Worse, next year he would be spending an extended amount of time with this dumb task up on Mount Ida. _Months_!

And what did his stupid brother say about it? 'Oh, you'll get it.' He was just smug he was almost done with his stint, probably, and now torturing Assaracus about it, who still had the majority of the time of this still in front of him. Wasn't like Ilus didn't think it was boring, too!

Fucking sheep.

"Can I play?"

Both Ilus and Assaracus froze in the middle of their strike/feint, looking over and down at their youngest brother. Earnest, _wanting_ , green eyes stared up at them while Ganymede clutched his own training sword. It was nothing more than the size of a long dagger, really, but Ganymede was only seven, after all. He'd lost his shoes at some point during the day, for he was barefoot where he'd had a set of red leather shoes on this morning. The nurse was going to go spare and then instantly forgive her charge when he asked forgiveness, pouting lips and wide-eyed sadness radiating from him like the glow of one of the Deathless Ones.

Assaracus wasn't sure whether Ganymede was a well-calculating fiend even at seven or if he was just that sincere about apologising for his naughties, even when he did them with intent. He might also be vaguely jealous he had never been able to get away with things like that as easily as Ganymede could.

"This isn't---"

"Sure," Ilus said, talking over him and smiling down at Ganymede with an expression that was as warm as it was charming and reminded Assaracus of their mother. It was easy to see he'd make a charismatic king, when the time came. "Assaracus will fight you."

Rolling his eyes and mouthing 'Assaracus will fight you' to himself as much as to Ilus, Assaracus sighed. Ilus, the ass, just gave him a smarmy smirk, which sharpened his otherwise comely face and the sweeter smile he’d given Ganymede. Dropping his sword, Assaracus stepped away from Ilus and Ilus crossed over to sit down on the stairs. It made sense, though. Ilus was even taller than Assaracus was, who hadn't caught up with him yet, lacking two years of growth as he was, so it'd be a better fit if he fought Ganymede compared to the oldest brother. It wasn't even really that he minded or anything, it was just... Ganymede didn't take this _seriously_.

Sure, Ganymede was just seven. Assaracus was rather sure he'd been more enthusiasm than serious intent at that age, too, but he'd been intent to learn the skill - was still - for what he might need to do, for his family, for Troy. Ganymede... well, enthusiastic and intent he might be, but it was for entirely different reasons.

Wood clattered against wood as they parried and blocked, and Assaracus made sure to check his strength, telegraph his moves and not fully utilize his greater reach and speed to fullest effect. Unfortunately, he could see Ganymede could tell what he was doing. His darling little brother was plenty clever to go with his cute face, so soon enough there was a fiercely grumpy little pout aimed up at him past their interlocked wooden practice swords.

" _Stop that_ ," Ganymede huffed, no fiercer than a wet kitten past his giant eyes, but determined enough that if that was all the world relied on, he alone could have ensured the sky was held up. Of course Ilus chortled where he sat on the stairs, slapping his knee.

"Yeah, stop that, Assaracus."

Like he wouldn't do the exact same thing if he'd been the one to face Ganymede. Sighing like a leaky bellows, Assaracus shook his head. "You asked for it, remember that."

He didn’t really wait for Ganymede to get ready. 

Asssaracus lunged forward - Ganymede was surprisingly quick on his feet, with excellent reflexes, so he didn't stumble - a strike at full strength which Ganymede unfortunately decided to try and block, wincing at the rattling hit that no doubt just numbed his hands. Somehow, he still kept hold of his sword. 

A feint, which Ganymede tried to answer in kind, but without the same sort of reach that Assaracus had, what he was doing was all too clear and Assaracus could just slide past it to slam his sword down on top of Ganymede's. This time, it fell out of his little brother’s hands. As the wooden sword, clattered down to the flagstones, Assaracus tapped the blunt point of his own to Ganymede's rounded little chin, and was treated to the full effect of Ganymede's pout.

Soft, generous little bow-like mouth pulled down at the edges and above that the shining green of Ganymede's sullenness. His little brother could conquer cities - countries, even, maybe - with a look like that. Which was a little concerning considering few people would _give up_ anything when they could just take it, and Ganymede might not be a girl, but... He needed to learn how to wield his weapons better, and needed a different attitude to it.

"Don't look at me like that, little brother. You were the one who told me to stop going easy on you." He rolled his eyes, squatting down to snatch up the sword and held it out to Ganymede. "But how you're supposed to learn anything if you keep doing that, I don't know."

"I know I did," Ganymede muttered as he took the offered sword, turning the hilt around between his hands, staring down at it instead of up at Assaracus, "I just... wanted to win. Fairly."

_There_ it was. The real problem. Across the courtyard, Ilus shook his head, serious now while Assaracus reached out to flick Ganymede's forehead.

"This isn't a _game_ , you know. This is about your life, and learning to protect Troy."

"I know that!" Well, that's what he was saying, with all fierceness a seven year old could muster while he, again, pouted up at Assaracus. "Ilus, tell him I know!"

That was a new tack. Assaracus gave in to the snicker that wanted out while Ilus snorted, though his smile, when Ganymede looked over his shoulder at him, was soft.

"We _know_ you know, Ganymede, but..." He flapped a hand, unable to explain what both of them - what Ganymede's weapons' instructor, too, surely saw - could tell from the way he conducted himself. He knew, yeah, but he still thought about it in terms of fairness and cheating and winning. Like it was a competition and not training for potential future combat. He wanted Assaracus to use his advantages not because he thought he would necessarily learn anything, but because otherwise he saw it as going easy on him and not giving Ganymede the chance to win _properly_. Never mind that Ganymede was seven and Assaracus was fourteen and his instructor well over thirty, even if, of course, Ganymede trained with other boys his age so they could actually learn something.

Ganymede was pouting again.

Groaning, Assaracus stood up, dropping his practice sword as he did so, and stared down at the fluffy head of curls, only marginally darker than the luscious nutty auburn they usually were and already showing signs of starting to turn blond at the crown.

"Now, _you_ stop that," he said, and Ganymede looked up with the fiercest pout anyone could ask for, offended, but pouting, still. "Oh, I see you're not going to listen to me! Well, maybe you will _now_..."

"Assa--- _racus_!" Ganymede's complaint turned into a startled shriek, winging itself up into the air as Assaracus swooped down, grabbing Ganymede by his childishly thin calves (which, hopefully, would be hard with muscle in another seven, ten years) and hauled him up, upside down. He shook him until the little practice sword went clattering to the flagstones, laughing. Ganymede had at least some instinct and had tried to flail it to reach any part of Assaracus to hit him with it, and that just wouldn't do. Assaracus wasn’t satisfied with turning his little brother upside down and shaking him though. So with a smirk, Ganymede’s eyes widening as he caught his expression, Assaracus whirled around.

Ganymede’s shriek turned into a yell, and then laughing whooping. Ganymede flung his arms out, completely at odds with the high pitched protest to _put me down, Assaracus!_. Assaracus didn't listen, though after a couple twirls even Ganymede's stringy weight was getting to him. Didn't mean this had to be over, though...

"Hey, Ilus! _Catch_!"

"Assaracus!" Ganymede's high pitched yelp was joined with Ilus' protest, his deeper voice cracking up high in the middle and Assaracus' laugh turned into a hoot, completely ignoring both of them. Coming to a stop, dizzy but facing Ilus, Assaracus tossed his little brother, who yelled as he was sent flying.

Ilus, of course, caught Ganymede with a grunt, and, despite the look he shot Assaracus, promptly turned their youngest brother with a twirl so he had him by the ankles, and swung him around in turn. It was a little like two hawks playing with their prey in mid-air, tossing a mouse or rabbit that they'd caught between them. Well, if said mouse or rabbit had been into it as much as the hawks were, that was.

They traded Ganymede between them two more times before Ilus, with a huff, turned their red-faced little brother the right way up and deposited him on his feet. He swayed and wobbled, would have ended up on his butt or face if Ilus hadn't caught him by the shoulder. Ganymede's smile was bright enough to challenge the sun, even if his eyes were a little unfocused from the way he'd been swung around. They sparkled in the late afternoon light, joining his breathless laughter.

"That was fun!"

Fun, yeah, it actually had been. Assaracus was pretty sure he'd lost his intent of what he'd been trying to do somewhere in the middle of all this. If he'd intended anything at all other than distracting Ganymede so he didn't pout like he had been doing, but maybe it didn’t matter. Fun was good too.

"Uh-huh. Sure was. Here, put these away will you?" Picking up his, Ganymede's and Ilus' practice swords, he shoved all three at Ganymede, who huffed but, as soon as he wasn't liable to weave off across the courtyard like a drunk, obediently trotted off. Pulling off his fillet, Assaracus ran a hand through his hair and looked to Ilus, who grimaced.

"I hope Father has some other plan for him than any of the military positions," he said with a shake of his head, and Assaracus silently agreed. Maybe Ganymede would drop this whole thing about treating weapons' training like a game or a competition like it was _sports_ , harmless except in fun and for the glory of winning as he got older, but...

Glancing behind him to spot Ganymede right before he disappeared back inside, curls bouncing with every step, Assaracus didn't really think he'd change that much.


	4. Little Sister Shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ganymede's little sister wants to try something new, and Ganymede sees no reason why she shouldn't get to try it. Of course they can't reveal what they're doing to the _adults_ around them, however.

Peering over the balustrade, Cleomestra frowned down at the busy mess below; men shouting, horses' hooves on the cobblestones, dogs barking, and then, as she hurried down the stairs, her sandals slapping against stone. Dodging the legs of both horses and men, petting a couple of the dogs she passed as she ran around them, she ended her careening across the courtyard by thumping into her father's legs.

"I wanna go!"

Her father and two of her older brothers looked down, her father lowering first one hand - he'd been waving to Ganymede, up on the stairs overlooking the courtyard - and then the other, leaning down to snatch her up. Laughing, he kissed her cheek, and she shuddered and squirmed from the rasp of his beard against her soft skin.

"Papa!" That was as much protest as trying to call back to her demand over Ilus’ and Assaracus’ laughter, and her father shook his head.

"You are staying right here, Cleomestra. If Ganymede isn't coming with us, why would _you_? Besides, your mother needs your help." He squeezed her tight enough Cleomestra grunted, then pouted as she was put down.

"I don't wanna weave! Or card wool! It's boring!" Stomping her foot, which only gained a new burst of laughter from the men around her, her father patted her on the head, then gently turned her around.

"And important. Now go back, I don't want you trampled by the horses." He gave her a little push, and Cleomestra went, stomping the whole way back across the courtyard and up the stairs, sticking her tongue out at her brother as he turned to face her when she came up on the landing. Ganymede made no halves of his curiosity, his eyebrows arching high enough on his forehead to disappear among the curls.

"Why do _you_ want to hunt, anyway?"

Narrowing her eyes and cheeks puffing out, Cleomestra glared for several long, silent moments, but Ganymede's expression didn't change as he waited, patient. Even if he did glance to the side as the hunting party started off and gave another wave, but she decided she could forgive that, because he looked back right after, still attentive.

"... It seems fun! And a lot more exciting than _weaving_ ," she muttered, crossing her arms and, still, glaring, but Ganymede only nodded slowly, even if he looked a little confused.

"Okay... I mean, it _is_ both fun and exciting, but can be really boring too, if you don't catch anything..." He pursed his lips, glancing sideways down at the courtyard again. "If you really want to, we could... I don't know, if you borrow some of my clothes, we could go out?"

"... We could?" Breathless at this suggestion, Cleomestra froze, staring at her big brother intently. Ganymede looked back at her with a sheepish little smile, shrugging. But there was also a growing sparkle in his eyes that told he was warming up to his impromptu suggestion.

"Yeah, why not? If you're dressed like a boy, I think there's less chance you'll be noticed as we walk out!" Ganymede bounced a little on his feet, excited now, which further excited Cleomestra, and she grabbed his wrist and tugged.

"Okay! Let's go!"

She pulled her brother into running the whole way to his room, and Cleomestra fairly bounced on her feet as Ganymede went to his chest and started rifling through it. He came out with a fringed kilt much like he wore, along with a belt, heavily braided around its middle. She snatched these up and started pulling her clothes off with enough enthusiasm she risked getting caught in her own clothes a couple times. In comparison to the flounced skirt and narrowly cut short robe, the kilt was so much easier, though the belt used a knot she had no idea how to replicate, and Ganymede had to help. He stepped back with a considering look that made him both look a little older _and_ very ridiculous, because he was only three years older than she was and the expression on his face made him look much too serious.

"I think it'll work," he said after a couple beats where she was impatiently shifting on her feet, the sandals still her own, "but you have to take out the stuff in your hair, and your necklace and bracelets."

Now was the first time Cleomestra didn't like where this was going, and she pouted but sighed, reluctantly acquiescing to her brother's presumed expertise in making sure she was taken for a boy. She liked the strings of beads and tiny gold flowers she had strung in her hair and the matching bracelets! It kept it out of her face without actually being tied up and done the same as a married woman's was, which, of course she wouldn't have her hair that way yet. But away it all went, her curls looser and longer than Ganymede's or Cleopatra's; her own was much more similar to Ilus', though it was less obvious with his hair being shorter.

"Here."

Ganymede was holding out one of his simpler fillets, and she took it but was almost of a mind to demand one of the nicer ones. If she did, though, maybe that'd be recognized and then they'd really _look_ at her and realize she wasn't a boy. So she didn't protest and instead fitted the fillet in place as she straightened up, taking a breath. It felt weird, to have air brushing her back and stomach and shoulders, too, uncovered and bare compared to usual. It made her feel a little naked, but that was stupid; she wasn't dressed any more or less than Ganymede currently was, and it was definitely too hot for a tunic.

"Looks good to me," he said, and Cleomestra giggled at the wink he threw her. He wasn't just humouring her - even if this had been his idea to start with! - but making sure to do it right, to let her (hopefully) succeed and get to do what she wanted to do. It wasn't like women couldn't hunt at all! There was Artemis, for one. "We'll get some slings and see if we can get out of here..."

Ganymede threw a thoughtful look at the door, frowning, but now Cleomestra knew exactly what she could do, and nodded sharply.

"Let's go get them, and then I'll show you a back way out!"

Her brother blinked, then grinned, and didn't question or scoff that he might already know the way she was thinking of, and so they set out. She was more than ready for this!

That was, anyway, what she had thought all the way up until they were kneeling in front of a rabbit. It _had_ been fun. Sneaking out, aiming for the nearby wooded banks of the Simoeis, every now and then carefully slinking through the undergrowth, then running as they spotted a likely prey. Admittedly, with adults with them the children might have succeeded in their hunt sooner, for they were not very quiet, even if Ganymede made a show of trying to hush them _both_ , giggling with his sister through his hissing.

In the end, though, there was a rabbit at their feet.

And she'd been so greatly pleased, for a moment! There'd been a wild, triumphant singing in her veins when the stone she threw actually took the rabbit down, whereas the one Ganymede had launched a second earlier had tossed the rabbit in the air, but not _killed it_. She'd killed it.

"... Cleomestra?"

Sniffling, she snatched the knife Ganymede was holding out to her, didn't hear his surprised hiss, and clutched it firmly in her hands. It was just about the right size for her hands, Ganymede wasn't too big yet for his knives to be oversized for her.

"Wh-what, do I do?" Her stomach roiled against the sickly sweet smell of iron in the air, sharp and sweetly overwhelming at once. It wasn't at all like standing off to the side when the kitchen servants were dealing with chickens. It was gross but funny, then. This… wasn’t funny.

"Okay, you need to hold it _like this_ , first of all," Ganymede said, adjusting her grip. The back of her hand grew sticky, for there was a cut down the ball of his thumb, and she stared at that, then her hand, then up at Ganymede.

"I cut myself on the rock before I threw it. I'm _fine_!" He grinned at her, and she chewed her lip, but... it sounded like it was true? Probably was. She couldn't remember much aside from crashing through the bushes, focused on not having this rabbit, too, disappear on them, and the startled triumph of seeing the rabbit drop with a convulsing jerk after her stone had hit.

After it had...

"Okay. And now we... like this."

He helped her, and Cleomestra was grateful for that. Less so when the guts spilled out onto the grass, intensifying the smell clogging the air. Her stomach heaved, and then she lost her battle with it. Dropping the knife she twisted around and away, throwing up. A hand landed on her shoulder, squeezing, then continued up in her hair, gathering it away from her face.

"Sorry! I---"

"It's okay." It wasn't, but she'd asked for this, hadn't she? It _had_ been fun. "I'm okay. It was fun."

She ignored Ganymede's dubious expression while she ripped a handful of grass to wipe her mouth and they finished up with the rabbit. At least he didn't call her out on it. Or the couple tears she shed, dropping down on her bare knees.

"Can you, um, carry it? Let's just---"

"Go home."

Twin shrieks echoed through the forest and scared up the birds from the nearby trees, Cleomestra almost falling over the rabbit as she startled, Ganymede almost falling into her in turn. Somehow, they remained mostly sitting up, avoiding putting hands or bodies against guts and blood and the rabbit. Above them stood two older men Cleomestra felt like she should recognize, but didn't. Hair dark, the colour more brown for one than the other, and eyes green. Green in a very similar way to Ganymede’s bright colour but darker, and there was a subtle, strange shimmer to their skin. Maybe it was just the sunlight through the trees, but it looked less like the play of light through leaves and more like... sunlight on water? Maybe? She was probably just imagining it.

"Grandfather!" Ganymede squeaked, and she glanced sharply towards him, but Ganymede was staring up at the men, wide-eyed. Then he glanced to her, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth and smiled sheepishly. "It's Simoeis and Scamandros, Cleomestra."

Oh.

_Ohh_.

She looked back up just as she was hauled up in the arms of one of them, Simoeis, maybe, because she'd guess the other, with the browner hair, was Scamandros, who stood by to let Ganymede pick up the rabbit and sheathe his knife before he picked him up.

"Your mother is _very_ worried," Scamandros said, and the narrow stare both she and Ganymede got from the river gods silenced them both into a guilty shared glance.

"... Sorry."

It had been worth it though. Maybe. Cleomestra glanced to Ganymede, and while he looked as contrite as she felt, he still held the rabbit out and nodded to _her_ when he talked about who killed it. It filled her both with that bubble of triumph and cold unease. She had killed it. Tuning out when Ganymede repeated the same story about cutting his hand on a rock to explain his bloody hand, Cleomestra wet her lips and wrapped her arms around Simoeis' neck. Her… grandfather? Held her closer, and she felt a little better. 

Sure, this had been worth it, just to see what it was about, but weaving wasn't so bad, really. Carding wool, she decided, was still _extremely boring_.


	5. A Father's Concern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tros has reservations about sending his youngest son off for a year, no matter the very good reasons to do so. Is it better or worse Ganymede _is_ slowly growing up?

Watching Ganymede practically dance around him, forward a couple steps, then back to walk alongside him, restraining his glee in an attempt at appearing grown-up, Tros was torn between smiling at his youngest son's excitement and the growing urge to insult the boy's tender manhood by dragging him back through the corridors and toss him into Callirrhoe's wing and lock the door. Not that he didn't trust his brother to keep Ganymede safe, and ultimately Dardanos wasn't so very far away. 

It was just... He glanced down again, watching Ganymede's curls bounce with every barely restrained step, light intermittently catching in his hair to reveal honey highlights, even some dashes of red, against the dark. In a couple months, he'd look like his hair was half gilded from the sunlight. It was also _just_ the way his son smiled, bright like any twelve year old boy's but shining far more sweetly on his rounded cheeks, against the fine sweep of his features. It was _just_ the perfect shade of Ganymede's green eyes, like shallow ocean water lit by the sun, like Callirrhoe's, like both of the river gods in their family. It was just the well-formed shape of his limbs, already suggesting the strong grace they would have in a bare few more years.

It was just...

He could be assured there were enough eyes on the boy here in Troy, to see and pull him away should there be need; eyes and hands he could trust against those he couldn't, who lingered too long though the boy was yet too young. Ganymede had no business having to worry his looks should call more attention than his position did, not _yet_ , and Tros was determined to keep it such for as long as possible. These were not issues he would ever have thought to worry about when it came to a son. Not so soon, not so deeply, and yet here they were. For while his daughters were blossoms worthy of their blood and of Zeus himself as their ancestor, beautiful or in the process or becoming so when it came to Cleomestra, as young as she was, Ganymede was yet something entirely different. Tros would believe him another son of a god planted among his children because of it, and if so he would still love him as his own, but he knew he wasn't. He was just the proof of divine heritage, of his nymph mother's beauty, of the vagaries of the human shape, all distilling down into _this_. Boys were sweetest in that brief blooming moment after leaving true childishness and coming into adult firmness, that was only to be expected, but they were hardly so very irresistible as Ganymede was already showing signs of becoming, of a like to, but also heads and shoulders above, any given beautiful virgin girl. And he had less courses of action available to protect a son than he did a daughter - Tros honestly barely knew what to do about it than keep trusted eyes on him.

And so it was a hard-fought decision to send Ganymede off to Dardanos. It was also an undeniable opportunity to have Ganymede serve as his brother's cupbearer for a year, for it'd teach him to make connections in a place foreign to him, teach him to navigate places and people unfamiliar while not too unfamiliar, while having the safety of relatives to fall back on. Such things and more, so he wouldn't not send Ganymede off to his brother, no matter his concerns. 

It was just; the boy could be reckless, self-assured by the fair sweetness of his smile and his status as his father's son and the youngest prince of Troy. Further, while Ganymede was not more of a fool than any other twelve-year old boy or particularly easily duped, he forgave very easily. He was kind, and good. Achingly so, and Tros feared the world was an unsuitable place for his son; he could only hope what they would do now and in the years to come would prepare him. Ganymede had two older brothers, that was true, but he couldn't be shielded in all ways from his place, the place he needed to take for Troy. He'd need, sooner or later, to grow up properly.

"Ganymede." Tros stopped, still on a floor above the courtyard, with a gentle early summer breeze, not yet turned harsh, wafting in through the gallery they were walking along. His son turned to him with sharp alacrity and looked up. Hands behind his back and his wide eyes bright, one could certainly take Ganymede for nothing but the royal child he was - but he also could not stand entirely still, and was almost vibrating in place. Tros knelt down, putting his hands on narrow, still childish shoulders. Almost despaired at the slimness of them despite the obvious proof of Ganymede starting to shed some baby fat, the beginnings of muscle from playing with javelin and running and swimming building foundation for the later bloom of youthful strength and hopefully more broad-shouldered sleekness. Still, he was young, and sweet, and Tros was nearly overcome by his earlier urge despite his decision. Somehow, he held fast. "Heed your uncle, and comport yourself well at his table."

Ganymede, of course, _almost_ rolled his eyes. Tros could see the aborted half-urge in the way Ganymede blinked it away, then nodded with all due seriousness. "Of course, Father. I'll make you proud! I won't spill a single drop."

He sounded so serious, too, sparkling green eyes earnest, and Tros found himself laughing, pulling Ganymede in close for a hug. Slim arms came up around his shoulders and clutched him; surprisingly strong, but still, just a child. Then, of course, Ganymede being both a child and at the cusp of beginning his journey into a young man and having recently discovered the precious bloom of his manhood, he quickly squirmed out of the hug so as to not linger _too long_. Children. Tros stood up reluctantly and brushed his tunic off - and then found his hand caught by Ganymede's small, and again, surprisingly strong one. Slender fingers squeezed his larger hand in a grip that wasn't at all reflected in bright expression on Ganymede's face. He was sometimes worryingly good at hiding his feelings, contrasting with how open he usually was with them. 

If the boy hadn’t actually taken his hand, Tros really would have been left thinking there was no worry about the upcoming trip in his son at all. But he was a child still, and, while excited for the adventure up ahead, clearly also wishing for some support from his father. Tros smiled and tightened his hand around Ganymede's.

"Let's go see if the wagon is prepared, shall we? And you know your mother will cry, so you'll have to be strong for her."

She might, she might not, but she'd been at least as anxious as he, in both similar and other ways, at the prospect of Ganymede being sent off to Dardanos, so Tros would lean on 'yes'. The greater point was that it caused Ganymede to straighten a little more, spine stiffening, and nodding.

"Of course!"

Hopefully that should forestall any tears from Ganymede before he was, at the very least, out past the gates. If the boy cried before then, Tros would rather fail his decision to _not_ lock his son up and keep him in Troy for at least another year. 

As he watched the wagon roll away a short while later, an arm around his wife who was indeed crying into his shoulder now and her overflow was testing his own limits, Tros rather wondered if it wouldn't have been easier on his and Callirrhoe's hearts if Ganymede _had_ cried. But he had not, and he was going; the year would be a slow one.


	6. The Foreign King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sooner or later, you realize you're not as safe as you've grown up thinking you are. Even if you're a prince. 
> 
> King Minos of Crete attempts to take something he has no way to claim in any other way; Ganymede isn't at all agreeable.

Foreign ships often put in at Troy's harbour, so that, alone, wasn't anything much remarkable; they came from the lands of the Achaeans, from Thrace, from Crete and sometimes from Egypt, and most certainly from further south of the coast, where the other Luwian lands were. Troy was both gateway and final destination for many wares, so when Cleopatra pointed out the ship they could just barely see putting in to harbour this late morning, it was only a game at first to guess from where it might have come as it clearly wasn't one of theirs, what it might carry, and further where said cargo might be going. An amusement while Cleopatra stood on the citadel's walls, her finest skirt on, the flounces richly embroidered to match her robe, practically dripping in gold, and of course very modestly shielding any closer view with a veil, though not tightly enough for a few curls not to be wind-tossed past the edge of it.

"I still say it's Cretan," she said, lips pursed and facing forward while one hazel eye was aimed not at the distant harbour, but, as much as was possible while not turning around, glancing over her shoulder, "is he still there?"

"And I think it doesn't look like it's come from that far south. Maybe one of the islands on the edge of King Minos' influence, but not Cretan," Ganymede insisted, perhaps with quite a touch more vehemence than was necessary, but for as silly as their game was, he was still helplessly competitive, and wished to win, "and yes. Standing right at the corner, trying to pretend to be talking to Ilus. Father's probably going to agree to his suit any day now."

Ganymede smiled, hip-checking his sister gently and not hiding it when his smile turned into a grin as she blushed, worrying the veil where she was holding it. It would be sad to see her go as far south as Seha, but it could always be worse. The hopeful prince who'd come to forge a bond with the royal house of Troy seemed okay, and hopefully he'd also remain so after going back home with his new bride. Cleopatra, at least, seemed interested enough. She certainly had enough sweet blushes and coy glances over for the prince, either in bare thought or when she took glances at him, in-between being nervous about the whole thing.

"Looks like they're sending people up to the palace..?" Ganymede said with a frown as they watched the distant work on the harbour. It was of course hard to pick out details, but the procession was large enough they could see it as it was forming down by the ships and then picking it out here and there as it wound along the city’s streets. The closer they came to the citadel hill however, the more obvious it was that yes, they were coming this way.

"Well, then you shall have to face certain defeat, because now we can confirm where they came from!" Cleopatra laughed and waved towards the stairs down from the wall. "I should be going back inside, anyway. Mother is probably waiting."

"I'm _not_ wrong." Ganymede huffed, pressing his lips thin to avoid pouting, but he could see by her glance that she saw it anyway. It was only quick and she didn’t linger on it, as Cleopatra was clearly more interested in looking off towards the small group they would be passing, even if Ganymede would be on the side of her that was closest to the group and her probable future husband. Manfully, he ignored both of those looks and escorted his sister back into the shadowed corridors of their home, slow enough that they passed the stragglers of the delegation in the great courtyard. Hard to say from that alone, for while they overheard the servants speaking Achaean, that neither proved nor disproved they were from Crete. Sharing a glance, Ganymede and Cleopatra took a slightly different route towards their mother's quarters, slowing as they walked past the open doors of the reception hall. Their father was there, as well as a well-dressed stranger with a couple attendants.

"Father?" Ganymede asked right before they would have passed the doors, as if this was of no great matter at all, cocking his head in perfectly innocent inquiry. Tros looked around the stranger's shoulder, and the other turned as well, revealing a nearly clean-shaved, dark-haired man dressed in fine Achaean clothes, but with additional and rather distinct details. Hopefully he was wrong, though.

"Ganymede," his father said with a brief smile, though he arched an eyebrow as he caught sight of Cleopatra, "you should get your sister to your mother, she'll need the help considering the great company we'll be hosting for a few days. Lord Minos, my daughter Cleopatra and my son Ganymede."

... Cretan. More than that, _the ruler_ of Crete. Ganymede just barely managed to suppress his groan as he ducked his head in a brief bow. The back of his neck prickled, and he looked up into dark, dark eyes, spearing right through him. He couldn't move. King Minos flicked his glance to Cleopatra, then tipped his head.

"As beautiful as could be expected from the blood of Dardanos," he said, his smile a flash of pearly glimmer against his short-cropped beard, winking before he turned to face Tros again, "though of course I have to defend my children, as they are of exemplary comeliness as well."

Both men laughed, though Ganymede didn't miss the look his father threw him over the Cretan king's shoulder. So with a flexing twitch of his toes against the soles of his shoes and with the lack of that dark stare on him, Ganymede turned on his heel and hustled Cleopatra away. They really didn't need any troubles coming from the king of Crete taking fancy to the daughter already practically promised to someone else, after all, so better get her quickly out of sight.

"See?" Cleopatra's whisper was smug, but her hand on Ganymede's arm was tighter than necessary; she probably had the same thought about King Minos as he did. "I won."

And he couldn't even gainsay her. With a loud, exasperated sigh, only slightly exaggerated for her sake and to release some of his own sudden nerves, Ganymede conceded defeat. It was a silly game anyway. Not that he could deny that he'd still wanted to win, because he had. He couldn't help it!

Dropping Cleopatra off with their mother after slipping inside himself to give Callirrhoe a kiss on the cheek, Ganymede continued down the corridors, aimless. He didn't have anywhere immediate to be, his tutoring not until later, when it was cooler, and he hadn't just yet been put on the sheep herding duties he was supposed to take as part of his education. Soon would be, though, and he wondered if he'd get as sick of it as Assaracus had. It seemed rather peaceful, honestly, and learning the commands for the sheepdogs had been interesting. Stepping out of the way reflexively as someone came around the corner he was right by, Ganymede looked up and then paused.

"Ilus? What is it?"

His oldest brother's expression lightened immediately, but a tense quirk between his brows remained.

"Nothing, really. Father's going to announce the marriage this afternoon, and let Pariya-muwas present his gift to Cleopatra at dinner... King Minos has been invited to partake, of course, and accepted." Ilus shrugged, but he seemed to not quite be able to shake the lingering tension off.

"That's good, isn't it? You look tense. Found something you don't like about him?" Ganymede frowned. He sure hoped not, particularly so when Father was going through with this. Or was the problem not Cleopatra's future husband, but rather their other foreign visitor? Biting his lip at the memory of the dark-eyed stare that'd pierced him, Ganymede cocked his head and decided to be blunt. "Or is it about the king?"

Ilus grimaced.

"It's not Pariya-muwas. I think he'll be good to her. The king... He expressed nothing but his congratulations, so as long as he's being sincere, it should be fine." Still, Ilus pursed his lips. "Keep an eye out, though?"

Ilus' tone was a little weird, and his stare was narrow, nearly dark. Not sure what the reason might be, Ganymede smiled and waved it off. "Of course. It'll be fine, Ilus."

Ilus didn't seem to quite believe him from the way he quirked an eyebrow, but he softened into a smile soon enough, reaching out before Ganymede thought to duck away and ruffled his hair.

"Go bother your wife instead of me!" Laughing, Ganymede shoved the hand away, ducking away under Ilus' arm, and jogged off. He was still restless, but he felt better.

It really did seem fine, too. Both Tros’ and Ilus' concerns had clearly been unfounded. The dinner went off without a hitch, and the gift - a beautifully intricate necklace with matching earrings and a length of very fine, embroidered linen that Cleopatra was intending to make use of for what she'd be married in - well-received. His father relaxed, and it seemed he was getting on well enough with King Minos that they were talking future trade.

Ganymede didn't really see much of their foreign visitor, aside from at meals. Mostly. He was thoroughly embarrassed the second day of Minos' stay, while furiously trying to do his best with the sword at his teacher's urgings. It just... wasn't going well. It never did. He thought his moves through too long, didn't quite get them right, didn't choose the right ones. It was infuriating, but not, as it probably should be, because it might mean he would probably not last very long in an actual battle. It was rather because he kept _losing_. He knew better than to say that, but the burn of losing was the same now, seven years later, as it'd been when he'd been seven and asked to 'play' with Assaracus and Ilus. He simply wasn't any good at this.

Ducking under a swing, Ganymede lunged forward and immediately got a foot right to the shoulder. Grunting, he fell back on his butt, grimacing at the unforgiving impact of flesh against stone.

"Are you all right there, Prince Ganymede?" The chuckle was warm, at least, but it wasn't any voice he would expect. Tipping his head back, Ganymede stared up, upside down, at his father... and King Minos. Blushing to having been caught being kicked to the ground like this in front of these two, he sighed.

"I'm fine, my lord. I'm sorry, Father---" Surprise cut him short as large hands snatched him by the armpits and hauled him up. He was swung around and up as if he weighed nothing and wasn't holding onto a sword and a smaller, lighter, training shield as well. Sure, the man behind him grunted as he put him on his feet, but he didn’t otherwise seem bothered by Ganymede’s weight.

"Sorry for what, Ganymede?" His father said kindly, a smile in his voice, but Ganymede forgot the need to answer for a moment as Minos didn't immediately let go. Instead there was a squeeze, a brief slide of his hands down to Ganymede's ribs. First then did he pull his hands back to pat his shoulders, nearly hard enough Ganymede might have staggered and lost his balance again. 

"Showing myself in a bad light," he said, turning around with a pout he couldn't stop or control. Unintentionally met King Minos' dark eyes again and was briefly speared by the stare before the man looked to his father instead, an amused smile on his face.

"You're young, Ganymede. You have time to get better," his father said and clapped him on the shoulder, before he and Minos left the training yard. Ganymede watched the two men disappear back inside and slid a sweat-sodden curl off his forehead. Grimaced, which just turned into a pout before he wiped it off and turned around to face his sparring parter again, with some reluctance. Young, sure, but he knew very well Assaracus and probably Ilus as well had been a lot better than he was at this age. It was also embarrassingly hard to concentrate when he kept remembering large hands under his armpits, at his ribs, the look thrown back before the foreign king had left. He refused to lose so easily again, however, and pulled himself together.

The next day, as a send-off for Prince Pariya-muwas, there was a hunt.

This, at least, Ganymede knew he was good at. He would not make a fool of himself today, which was a good thing, because very quickly he found himself with King Minos at his side, instead of the king being by his father’s, or even Ilus’.

"You look more comfortable today, Prince Ganymede," Minos said with a smile, and Ganymede pulled a face, unsure whether he was being quietly made fun of or if was just conversation, kindly lacking in judgement. He'd take it as the latter, and not only because it would be more politic; he intended to enjoy himself today and didn't want his mood spoiled.

"I am better at hunting than fighting, my lord," he said brightly, chin raised with full confidence of the truth of his words, and smiled. The light in the king's eyes went out, but he did not seem angry. Ganymede blinked, though before he'd so much as thought to open his mouth, a light brush of a hand to his shoulder silenced him. The gold rings on his fingers glinted under the golden-green light falling through the boughs, and there was a fine dusting of hair on the back of Minos' hand.

"I look forward to a demonstration." Minos smiled, though his eyes were heavy still while his hand briefly squeezed Ganymede's shoulder before he let go and turned around, watching the hounds as they danced around the small crowd of men in restless excitement. Ganymede stared up at the king's back, the column of his neck and the half-curly, ordered mess of his short hair held in place by a fillet. His skin prickled and he felt restless again, as if he was one of the hounds, too. Shaking his head and swallowing some noise or other, Ganymede tried to focus on what they were doing, and on the hounds, fleet as they dove into the thickets.

At one point, the small pack broke into three as they scared two deer into fleeing, though two of the hounds were going after something else and, curious, Ganymede followed with barely a call to the rest of the hunting party. Someone, at least, was at his heels, which was a relief. If the silly dogs had ended up on the trail of a boar, he wouldn't wish to be alone for it, even if they were hardly equipped for a boar hunt, no matter how many they were.

Soon, he saw what the dogs were after; a stag, his antlers in velvet and heavy on his head.

Ganymede didn't even think. As soon as he had a reasonably good line of sight when the hounds chased it into a small clearing near the edge of the forest, the trees thinning out and giving both him, as the hunter, advantage thanks to less obstacles, but the stag, as the prey, the advantage of more space. Didn't matter. This, he could do. His arrow took it in the neck and it staggered; a javelin from his companion took it to the ground, and Ganymede laughed, giddy as he came to a stop by the stag, shooing the hounds back.

"Good job, both of you! No, leave it _alone_. Thank you---" Turning around, Ganymede froze. "Oh."

The King of Crete.

He was smiling, warmly pleased and clearly satisfied with their success, but again there was no light in his eyes.

"It seems your boasting was entirely correct, Prince Ganymede. This is a fine catch."

Swallowing, Ganymede nodded and shifted aside as Minos came over to stand beside him, hands on his hips as he surveyed their downed stag. He felt restless again against the lingering rush of triumph, and, trying to dislodge that, Ganymede looked down at the stag as well, arrow and javelin burrowed in it. Found himself smiling, pleased and a little shy both.

"It is. But it would have taken me another arrow if it weren't for your spear, my lord."

"He would only have gotten a little further, an additional arrow or the javelin accounted for or not. He ran very well, but it's over now," Minos said, clapping a hand to Ganymede's shoulder so suddenly he jumped, startled.

"I guess," he said, bobbing his head. He'd not wanted to claim the kill alone in case the king would have taken insult, but if Minos was ready to allow him the kill, Ganymede was hardly going to say no to that. "I think we can take it back without having to wait for everyone else to find us."

"It wouldn't be hard to carry. But it'll be easy to find as well, close to the edge of the forest as we are," Minos said, and Ganymede couldn't figure out if it was gentle disagreement or not, "I believe I shall be able to take _my_ catch back by myself, however."

What? 

Hadn't he just earlier basically said Ganymede killed the stag himself? Frowning, Ganymede wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or confused. Tipping his head, he caught sight of a dark, narrow stare that made his stomach flutter before the bow was yanked out of his hands and Minos bent down, picking him up by the hips and hauling him over his shoulder. The flickering gleam of his knife catching in the sunlight as it was taken from his belt and tossed across the clearing woke him up.

"W-what? _Put me down_!"

"That would defeat the--- away with you!"

The hounds, though they weren't any Ganymede had had any close association with, flew across the clearing and nipped at the king's feet and legs, growling and snarling. One of them went flying, caught by a kicking leg, partially protected by boots. Swearing, Minos backed off towards the stag again, snatching up the javelin with a grunt.

" _Wait_!"

Of course King Minos didn't. Flinching at the high whining abruptly cut off, Ganymede punched the broad back within so easy reach, and when that netted him no result, twisted in Minos' grip, grabbed a handful of short hair as well as he could, and yanked. Glared into the dark eye he could see, trying to remember some better offense. He just wasn’t in a very good position to be using wrestling moves, unless, maybe, if he could reach enough to strangle him..?

"Put me do- _own_!" Surprised when Minos actually listened and he was suddenly set on his feet, Ganymede grunted at the impact, jarring him all the way into setting his teeth rattling. The hope that whatever madness the king had been struck by might have passed was dashed as a thick hand came around his throat, grabbing at his jaw at the same time. Ganymede flinched, and then froze. It wasn't a strangling grip, but it could be. The hand seemed huge, much larger than it surely actually was, for Minos was nothing but a man, if well-built and towering thanks to his divine parentage. Reflexively, Ganymede clawed at the wrist, smooth nails digging into flesh, but his other hand was caught before he could hit anything.

"I have no wish to hurt you, Ganymede, but it will be easier for _you_ if you behave." Minos' voice was as dark as his gaze, which flicked over Ganymede's wide-eyed expression as he took a shaky, half-strangled breath. It wasn’t easy to gather his thoughts, for those dark eyes were lingering in a way that sent a chill down his spine.

"Wh-what do you _want_? Crete is rich enough not to need ransom, isn't it?"

"Ransom?" Minos chuckled, long and low. The thumb, though it was still pressed firmly into Ganymede's jaw, lightly followed the rounded angle of it, teasing heat and a confused fluttering in his gut. He couldn't look away from those eyes. "No ransom would satisfy what I find myself wanting, Prince Ganymede, and offering one of my daughters wouldn't give me what I am after either, for she would leave my house and I would be left with less than I had before and still a lack of your presence. You are not Cretan, and so I lack the authority and privilege to take you under my wing to teach you, and I doubt your father would be interested in sending you so very far away, even temporarily; he probably has closer teachers in such case. What is left to me is to take what I want."

"Take..? Hey!"

Jerking on his arms, Ganymede staggered backwards, but it was quite too late with both of his wrists caught in a one-handed grip and King Minos undoing one of the decorative ropes from the heavy belt around his tunic. He then used that rope to tie it around Ganymede's wrists. His quiver was pulled off next, arrows spilling on the forest floor, and Ganymede yelped as he was hauled into the air and over the king's shoulder again.

"Do I look like a _girl_?" He knew very well he was (more than just) pretty, was sometimes painfully aware of it, especially in the last year or so. Despite that, Ganymede knew no one went around kidnapping beautiful boys because they _were_ beautiful! Right? It wasn't like Minos would get anything of real value, doing so. The comment about teaching made little sense, and again, what would Minos get out of that? He also couldn't marry him, and there would be no children if... if he--- Ganymede shied away from that thought as it tangled itself in his brain and stomach both, grew thorns. That was something he'd not thought of at all, when the possibility of kissing was new enough on its own.

"I am well aware that you're not a girl, Prince Ganymede. It's quite hard to miss, no matter the fairness of your face, the softness of your skin and the fineness of your hair. And that you are not a girl would certainly be part of the point."

Minos had a hand on his thigh, and he slipped it with a slow slide up to the edge of Ganymede's kilt so the imprint of his large thumb was burning against the inside of his thigh. Ganymede froze, his face flushing all the way down to his very bare and definitely flat chest.

"I-I..." How was he supposed to process this? He couldn't even punch the king's back any more, because his arms were trapped underneath him and against Minos' torso, and very uncomfortably so, too! "You can't just---! Put me _down_!"

Yelling didn't garner him succor, of course. They left behind the last scattered trees at the edge of the forest, revealing them to be close enough to hear the booming surf of the nearby ocean. Where was Minos even going to? His ship was back in Troy's harbour, getting ready for his departure.

... Wait.

Twisting awkwardly around to get as good of a look as he could, Ganymede's breath got stuck in his throat as he choked on it, his stomach twisting in rebellion at the sight of the ship suspiciously close to shore. It wasn't familiar, but there would be no bets taken on whose ship it was. He couldn't hit anything but the back of his own thighs when he tried to kick, a jerky, practically reflexive yank on his muscles.

"W-wait..!" Later, Ganymede would be proud the actual tears didn't come until quite a bit later; at the moment he flinched from the way his voice wavered, trailing off with embarrassing weakness. Minos ignored him as he staggered down the grass-covered sandy incline down to the shore, half sliding along a couple times. He didn't fall. Ganymede would have taken falling straight on his face and taking most of Minos' greater weight on top of him if that was what it would've taken to give him a chance to escape, but it seemed it was not to be.

"My king." Flinching at the sound of another man's voice, someone else to see the way he was so ridiculously effortlessly slung over one of the king’s broad shoulders, someone who would not care, Ganymede squeezed his eyes shut as Minos sat down. Blessed, far-working Apaliunas, let him _please_ get off this boat.

He felt it when they pushed away from the shallow water the boat was stuck in, and sucked in a shuddering breath, pressing his mouth shut so tight his lips ached from where his teeth bit into them.

Let him get back to Troy before the day's end, no worse for wear. He didn't own enough cattle himself to offer up any hecatombs, but surely he could convince his father it would be worth it. Or he could just hunt, for the perfect animal to sacrifice. Just let him please get away from this. He would... he wasn't sure what he would do for it, aside from the hopeful possibility of offering to the god, but he would definitely also sacrifice his dignity for it.

It didn't seem worth it to fight when the boat bumped up against the ship and Minos, somehow, if awkwardly, climbed on board with Ganymede still over his shoulder. At best he'd fall into the boat below, probably knocking himself unconscious. At worst he'd fall into the water and drown, because he couldn't swim with his hands tied together. Or more probably he'd just be fished out and be right back where he was now. Swallowing heavily against his high, shuddering breathing as Minos' feet hit the swaying deck, Ganymede vaguely, and very pettily, thought it was a pity he didn't get seasick. It would serve the man right if he threw up all over his back.

"Quick, now. I want to be away from here as soon as possible. The further out at sea we are, the better chance to avoid any potential pursuit." King Minos' voice rolled through him like thunder, the way he was pressed against him, his bones trembling along with the words. Ganymede suppressed something that might have been a sob if he'd let it out. He would not cry. Unless that's what he had to do to get out of this, though Ganymede couldn't see how crying would at all solve anything. And if he was, would it be worse (or better) to do so right now with so many to see but not the man ultimately responsible, or to do it when there was no one, or only the king, to see?

As the rhythm of the drum started up, beating through Ganymede's head and body as much as through the air for the rowers to follow, Minos walked the length of the graceful ship to the stern, past the men at the rudders and into a partially closed off cabin at the back. It sheltered them from the wind and spray of the waves, and gave some vague semblance of privacy with the front closed. There was a bench at the back of it, generously padded.

Put back on his feet, Ganymede stared at King Minos as he sat down on the bench, meeting the Trojan prince's furious, and, admittedly afraid, gaze with one that was, if not unreadable, then dark. Not angry. Just--- Ganymede remembered the slide of the hand up along his thigh, and shuddered. Wanting, perhaps.

"Lord Minos---"

"Sit, Prince Ganymede." In the shadow of the small, makeshift cabin, made up partially of fine latticework and one solid wall, drapery offering some additional protection, the king's eyes seemed fathomless. He didn't quite blend into the shadows so well as to make him invisible, but they still made him seem much larger than he already was. And he was certainly tall, towering near a head over most men, as well as broad both from the blessing of birth and working with weapons, all more than befitting someone who was a son of Zeus. The shadows just added to it, and Ganymede felt small. It didn't stop him from sticking his chin out.

"I'll stand, thank you."

King Minos sighed, leaning forward to rest his lower arms on his thighs, and just studied him.

If that was what one could call the slow, warm sweep of the man's gaze, that was. It lingered all the way from the well-shaped, rounded tips of Ganymede's toes, the wing-like sweep of his ankles, calves shapely with running and swimming. Ganymede fiddled with his kilt, feeling bare despite it's adequate protection, given the burning light in Minos’ eyes. It continued up past his clenched hands at his thighs, the uncertain quiver of his flat stomach, the still-narrow sweep of his shoulders, the graceful turn of his shoulderblades hidden by facing the king. Finally, Minos’ bold gaze settled right on his face. Lingered on his lips.

Ganymede wasn't entirely unfamiliar with these sort of looks, but it was different, heart-poundingly, nauseatingly different, when he had nowhere to go, when there was no fear in the man staring at him. Before, they'd only ever been given from an angle, Ganymede catching them more by chance out of the corner of his eyes than anything else, always turned away if he whirled to meet them. They all knew they weren't supposed to stare in such fashion, weren't supposed to want unless Ganymede invited it. In such wise Ganymede had so far been assured of his safety if someone lingered too long; his father would be very displeased and take matters into his own hands if Ganymede complained. But what did a foreign king, already out at sea on his own ship, have to fear from Troy's lord and master? Ganymede felt picked apart and cold. Worse, there was a shyly confusing, terrible heat threatening in his gut, dripping down into his thighs, despite the fear.

Distracted by this, caught by staring at Minos' face as if that alone would give him some sort of sign or warning, Ganymede completely missed it when Minos tilted forward, stretched his hands out. They cupped his face and would not be denied. Ganymede froze, wide-eyed and prey-hearted, with Minos' large thumbs lightly stroking the gentle sweep of his cheekbones.

"It seems to me beauty such as this has never graced the mortal realm before; even the mortal daughters of gods should feel lucky if they were graced with even a sliver of your comeliness, Prince Ganymede. You could own the world with a smile."

Laughter, startled and hysterical, might have escaped if Ganymede had been an ounce less shocked. The noise that did escape, not fully a snort and not quite a raspberry, was still very loud and rude.

"It seems to me I own less now than I did this morning." Maybe he should be more polite, but Ganymede was running out of such graces. At least a girl taken could hope to be lawfully wedded, some small protection in the middle of unwanted cruelty. What could he hope for?

Minos smiled, but it was full of teeth. Ganymede's stomach turned, heavy as if wearied by chains, but also high and fluttery like there was a whole dozen butterflies that had hatched in there.

"You have no idea what you have taken, Prince of Troy." The grip King Minos had on his face tightened and the man surged to his feet, easily landing him more than just a head taller than Ganymede, who was not yet full-grown, even tall as he was. Minos could just as well have been a mountain, for he certainly was in comparison to most other men. Minos leaned down, and Ganymede, realizing just before their lips crashed together what was about to happen would have quailed away if he could have. He could not. He had nowhere to go with one hand tightening in his curls, and the other one sliding around his back to splay out over his side, warm against the skin above his belt.

The king's lips were warm. The rough prickle of his neatly-trimmed beard scraped over his chin as Minos tilted his head for him, the grip on his face threatening to turn more punishing if he tried for distance. So Ganymede bent and found the kiss overwhelming, but not, as he would have thought, disgusting. Minos knew too well what he was doing and Ganymede was too shocked to offer meaningful resistance to turn the kiss clumsy, despite his lack of experience and unwilling participation. He hadn't kissed anyone before. Hadn't _been kissed_ before. It was hot, and maybe a bit too wet, but as the Cretan king pulled back, the grip on his face lightening into something of a caress, Ganymede found himself flushing with more than one sort of heat.

Shame followed, fearful and confused, and for the first time since he'd been first picked up, he sobbed, a heaving hiccup of it. Trembling, Ganymede practically threw himself to his knees, clutching awkwardly with his bound hands at one of Minos' knees.

"My lord, _please_!" Tears burned and threatened to fall, but Ganymede didn't care any more, or care to modulate his tone. Shame and guilt, or maybe shameless fear, or all of that together fought to fit in his voice, in his chest and gut, pushing down the heated quiver and smothering it. Good. He didn't want to think about that, about something that seemed a betrayal of how he'd ended up here against his will. "Please--- take me back."

Tipping his head back to look up, Ganymede realized he was awkwardly close to the king's crotch like this, and that there was a conspicuous bulge, particularly obvious at this angle, tenting the fall of the tunic. Looking steadfastly past that and up at the man's face, he squeezed the knee as well as he could.

" _Please_."

The burning swell of gathered tears seemed to wobble along with his heartbeat, then spilled over with the next blink, unwanted but undeniable. His vision wavered, then solidified. King Minos looked torn. It ought to be reassuring that the seemingly adamant-coated blade of Minos' desire might be soft mercury after all. It wasn’t. Not when Ganymede could tell where undecided compassion ended and raw, wanting lust began; it was like standing at the absolute edge of the citadel wall, so far to fall before the ground met him and knowing that even a slight shift of his balance might doom him. Which way to turn would have him safe away from the edge?

Ganymede flinched when one large hand reached out and snatched him by the chin, holding him there and forcing his head back a little further. He sniffled, more tears following, and wet his contrastingly dry lips. Minos' eyes darkened again, and Ganymede froze, teeth worrying his bottom lip. Lightly, Minos stroked his chin.

"What god truly fathered you unto Troy, young Ganymede? Tears should not stir me so, and yet here you are, more radiant than before."

If he should have a godly parent, then it would have been one of the rare few events where such a thing went unnoticed. Out of answers, barely any words left, Ganymede lowered his gaze and shoved the only word he had left out in a whisper.

"... please."

Above him, the King of Crete sighed after a long silence, and let go of him. Fingers brushed lightly through Ganymede's curls, and then Minos stepped away, around him, and out of the little cabin, moving the front side back into place. 

Not moving from his spot, Ganymede curled up around his legs, forehead pressed to his knees. Slowly looked up at a quiet noise that didn't really belong among the thunder of the drum, the swaying rush of waves, the wind, or the call of men shouting in Achaean. There was a mouse right at the end of the bench, down by the planking of the deck. Ganymede blinked, sniffed, and felt a last tear, hot against his cold cheek, slide down. The mouse's little nose twitched and then it turned and disappeared behind the bench.

"Thank you." It didn't even matter if it was coincidence. The mouse could have come onto the ship in Troy's harbour, could easily have come from Crete. Mice and rats were hardly unusual on boats. He didn't care, didn't care _in the least_. Father would probably be more than happy to put sacrifice on Apaliunas' altar, and Ganymede would make sure to add something he'd hunted, just to be on the safe side. It was only right, coincidence or not.

How long he sat there Ganymede wasn't sure, but he didn't move again until someone came into the cabin. Minos, of course. Looking up, Ganymede scrubbed at his face and met the king's gaze with only slight, if deeply wary, hesitation. The man sighed and bent down to grab his arm, hauling him upright.

"You're a thief, Prince Ganymede, and I'll be letting you go and leaving me with nothing."

He should probably be quiet, but as tremblingly nervous as his heart still was, his mouth, apparently having reclaimed his lost words, moved of its own accord.

"You've surely had a very successful trading trip so far, my lord, without taking things that haven't been given."

A dark eye cut down to him, and Ganymede flushed darkly, awkward and hot. Minos stopped in the doorway to the little cabin, and leaned down, looming over him. Ganymede didn’t dare move, as much as he’d like to, swallowing heavily.

"But would it have remained unwillingly given, boy? I have many skills and my house is large; you are young, with many things left to learn. I would not be a clumsy teacher," Minos' said, his voice low and dark, nearly rumbling, so close Ganymede couldn't just feel his breath against his lips, but, just a shade beyond them, the movement of Minos' lips as well. He shivered, opened his mouth. Closed it, wet his lips and froze in the middle of the motion, for Minos’ eyes followed the gesture. Then, thankfully, he straightened up. "You are a lucky child, Prince Ganymede, and your father further swift and lucky in pursuit. You'll make sure we leave here with no bloodshed."

Hope filled him up so suddenly Ganymede almost tripped himself. Staggering along as he was half dragged out into the late afternoon sunlight, he looked over in the direction Minos pointed. A ship. _Trojan_ ship, and he could have cried again for relief, but didn't. Paying little attention to the rope around his wrists being untied, he stared at the approaching ship and picked out both his father and his Gal Mesedi, and more people on board than just the (armed) oar men.

"Hand my son over, Lord Minos," Tros said when the ships were close enough to do so, and Ganymede had never seen his father look so bronze-clad furious. He could almost imagine one of the furies standing right behind his father to lend him further ferocity. The grip Minos had on his arm tightened a little, but not unto bruising. It mostly seemed to be a reminder, through with how his father's expression darkened, maybe an ill-advised one. Minos didn't seem bothered.

"After a guarantee to leave unmolested, of course."

"As long as he is untouched."

Untouched. Not _unharmed_. Ganymede blushed all the way down to his toes it felt like, and only looked up when he was gently shaken. It took him a moment of staring across the ship until he realized his father was waiting for a response. Clearing his throat - praying his voice wouldn't crack because that would just be additional embarrassment to the crying earlier - he nodded and tried to summon a smile. It went... so-so.

"I--- I'm fine, Father."

Fine, kind of. More or less. Hopefully his father would accept that. He couldn't exactly say he _was_ untouched, for the kiss was like a burning brand in the back of his mind, a ghostly memory clinging to his lips, but Ganymede did his best not to think about that. Also did his best not to think about the way hesitant heat had accompanied that kiss, no matter how much it _shouldn't have_. His father was staring at him, narrow-eyed and grim-faced, but finally he nodded and held a hand out. Minos let go, and Ganymede could not hurry across quicker than if he could fly, and felt no shame at throwing his arms around his father as soon as he could do so, clutching to the heavy, fringed mantle.

"Now---"

"Father, _please_." Looking up, Ganymede tightened his grip on the fabric, the embroidered square pattern rough under his fingers from the gold thread. "I just want to go home."

Pleading green met furious hazel for a long, long moment, and then his father seemed to deflate.

"Get us going," he said, and his Gal Mesedi turned away to relay the order, shouting a couple of his own to silence the mutterings of warriors clearly looking for a fight, still. Never mind that doing so far out at sea was an awkward proposition at best. Slumping against his father, Ganymede buried his face against his shoulder, silent for a long, long moment and soaking up the warmth, along with the secure weight of the arm around him.

"... We need to sacrifice a hecatomb to Apaliunas, Father," Ganymede said after a while, tipping his head to glance up through his curls. His father stared, and then chuckled, a heaving huff of a sound.

"That sounds fitting, yes. It'll be done." His father looked away, staring after the disappearing Cretan ship, then shook his head. "Come sit down, Ganymede."

This time, Ganymede had no compunction about following the man who said those words and sit down in a similar little shielded nook at the back of the ship, behind the rudders and the men controlling them, as his father sat down beside him. This time, he didn't flinch from the hands that came up to cradle his face while Tros searched it, his gaze intent. Those hands, which had always seemed unyielding and strong, were trembling a little, and he looked... haunted. Biting his lip, Ganymede pulled a face.

"I'm sorry, Father---"

" _You_ did nothing wrong, Ganymede. I should have sent someone off after you the moment I realized you weren't with the rest of us," Tros said, expression darkening again, the hardness returning.

"We split in three, though," he pointed out, not wanting his father to blame himself. His father stared at him, sighed, and then abruptly pulled him close, hugging him tightly enough his back ached. Ganymede said nothing and just shifted closer, so he wasn't leaned so awkwardly.

"I'm fine, Father."

Repeating it would make it true, right? Might even make the guilt go away, creeping and confused, where it lurked in the back of his head. 

He was _fine_. 

Now, anyway. And if his father happened to delay the start of Ganymede's traditional sheep herding stint, one month at a time until it was a whole year later, then what did that matter? Though, admittedly, Ganymede got a little tired of all those delays by late winter, since it wasn't like there was anyone _else_ who'd tried to kidnap him for months by then. Troy was safe, as long as there weren’t foreign kings visiting! He swallowed any protests and let his father continue to delay until he clearly felt at least a little more relaxed about letting Ganymede leave the bounds of the city. If with a guard or two along.


	7. The Woman in the Meadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Few people can do whatever they want with impunity, and usually none of those are women. Some women, though, can, which then leaves pretty young things entirely unsuspecting of the danger present until it's too late.
> 
> Or it usually would be too late. Once again, Ganymede is lucky.

Herding sheep, Ganymede decided, was both refreshingly relaxing, and deathly boring. Assaracus had been correct, but Ilus hadn't been wrong. Still... thinking about those long-ago said words, Ganymede was pretty sure Ilus hadn't _just_ meant that it could be relaxing. There was some other point to this, but what it was, he couldn't quite figure out yet. Maybe because he was forced to wake up early every morning for this, herding the sheep out in the violet-rose pale light of early dawn, finding a good meadow and letting the sheep graze until noon. That early? Far too early for him! Early mornings were for Ilus and, to a lesser extent, Assaracus, to suffer through. Ganymede quite treasured his ability and opportunity to sleep late. Unfortunately, thanks to the sheep herding task there had been no late mornings for a whole year by now, and there wouldn't be for a full two more.

Sighing and leaned forward with an elbow of his knee and his chin in his palm, Ganymede reflexively counted the sheep. All accounted for, but the ones on the far right end of the meadow were getting a little too far away. Frowning, he sent one of the dogs out towards that end and got them back closer to the middle. He'd quickly learned that it wasn't just reasonably easy to lose even a small amount of sheep if you didn't keep track of them relatively consistently, but also if you were lazy or careless about where and how far you let them go.

Letting a slightly glazed look glance across the field again, seeing nothing what shouldn’t be there. Further away there was the distant glitter of the ocean to both the right and in front of him, Mount Ida somewhere in the distance far behind him. Beyond the field there was the narrow band of the dusty road crossing right through his field of vision, though hidden by the slight rise in the ground in that direction. Almost entirely hidden behind a tree stood a guard.

Ganymede knew neither Assaracus nor Ilus had had guards posted nearby, and he was torn on the matter. It was admittedly a bit of a relief, still. On the other hand, two years after his... adventure, it wasn't like anything had happened since then. Troy's surroundings were as safe as they could be; bandits and other road robbers didn't come this close to the well-traveled area around Troy, and the Troad in general was safe. Before the royal house of Dardanos had decided to split and relocate part of them to Troy in an effort to secure the Hellespont further south than what Dardanos allowed, it'd been worse in such matters, with quite serious complaints presented to the king of Dardania often enough that, too, had been part of the consideration. Now, though? Safe as houses.

Still... Green eyes slid sideways, back to the mostly-hidden figure of the soldier behind the tree. The shield was leaned against the tree at a lazily jaunty angle, but there was no obvious slackness in the way the spear was held, and from the angle of what little he could see of the soldier's side and shoulder, Ganymede knew he was standing at perfect attention. Nikomedes was one of the better options to have nearby.

Great option, actually, and Ganymede looked away, pretending like his cheeks weren't burning.

Not that there was anyone but the sheep and his dogs around to see, currently, considering Nikomedes had his back turned. Just as well. Ganymede still thought it a pity he was standing behind the tree, because that meant he couldn't see as much of him. Which was, of course, the point. It was both a pretence to privacy and an attempt at giving him the same experience Ilus and Assaracus had with this.

A little hard when he could still always tell where the guard was.

Of Nikomedes, he wouldn't mind seeing more of, though. He was about of a height with Ganymede, with broad shoulders, a very nice smile, and a short, neatly trimmed beard, dark against his lighter brown eyes. Kissing him had become one of Ganymede's favourite things to do whenever he was on guard. 

_Should_ he be doing so? Probably not. More so because the couple girls he'd kissed in the last two years since that... first kiss, just hadn't been as good. Nice, sure, but not the same, and that was just... awkward. It wasn't a matter of Nikomedes' commanding presence, his self-assured ease and careful respect - while Nikomedes was, by and large, the _best_ kisser Ganymede had experienced so far, he'd still liked the more curious exchanges with a friend or two compared to any of the girls. In conclusion; he wouldn't make the best husband, which made him feel slightly ashamed. He would rather really be able to be enthusiastic, do it right, and as his future wife (whoever she would be) would deserve, and unless there was something that came with marriage that would drastically change things, that didn't seem like it'd happen.

Sighing, Ganymede pulled a face and didn't fight it when his gaze slid back towards the tree and the mostly-hidden Nikomedes, after a quick check on the sheep. The idea of marriage was less than exciting, but it would, probably, not be so bad, in the end. Hopefully. Both Ilus and Nikomedes seemed to like it well enough, so there would be things to make up for it, right?

Right.

Surely.

Except a woman wouldn't have the same sort of large, firm hands, and there would be no scraping, tickling drag of a beard - he'd thought he'd find that an unpleasant reminder at best, but embarrassingly, Ganymede was pretty sure part of his reaction back then had been because he did find it pleasant. Same thing went with the different shape and build... Well, it didn't matter, did it? Marrying would happen regardless of what he chose to do otherwise.

Suppressing a sigh, Ganymede straightened up and stretched. Froze mid-motion, startled to find a woman just a couple meters away.

"Ah--- Can I help you, my lady?" Ganymede was thoroughly bewildered at her presence. To be sure, this area was well-used as grazing grounds, and he could spot others with their own little herds of sheep some distance away. This woman wasn't dressed like one would expect a shepherdess to be, though. 

Admittedly, Ganymede wasn't precisely either, his kilt and shoes of far finer make and detail-work than your regular shepherd, but he was, in the end, an exception. He was still dressed reasonably practical for what he was doing. The woman was dressed in high fashion, traditional (old) enough she wasn't even covering her breasts, which arched high against her chest, the nipples as rosy as the full height of dawn.

He was staring.

Yanking his eyes up to her face, his own pink down to his throat it felt like, Ganymede would have apologized, but curiously enough she was smiling - not an embarrassed one either, or even a coy one. More... pleased? Strange. One would expect a lady to be a bit more concerned about being stared at by strangers. Even more so one, dressed in gold and saffron as she was, the heavily embroidered flounces on her skirt glimmering in the light. Her veil was nothing but the sheerest of pink where it was draped over her head, which hid not a whit of her rich reddish-blonde hair, curled over her forehead and bound with several jeweled rings in a couple tresses. 

"I was going to ask the same of you, sitting here looking so contemplative, pretty shepherd," the woman said, coming closer as she did so. Her steps were slow and precise, her feet delicate - the rhythm was weirdly like the beginnings of a dance, almost. She stopped close enough her shadow fell across him, a finger to her generous lips. "What heavy thoughts are bothering such a beautiful head?"

Leaning back a little on his rock to look up at her, Ganymede finally stood up, picking up his staff as well. Not that he'd need it. The woman was alone, and though she was surprisingly tall, of a height with a tall man and thus a little taller than Ganymede, her limbs were as graceful as any lady's, and didn't show the same sort of strength a working woman's would. Besides. She was still a woman. 

Why should he be worried?

Why, despite the logic that there was no reason to worry, was there a crawling unease in his limbs?

"Nothing important," he said, smile coming unthinkingly, and Ganymede wasn't entirely surprised to see her bright, impossibly nearly violet-blue eyes darken, her fair cheeks go a little pink. It was a little embarrassing to have such an effect just from a smile on almost anyone he talked to, if less often on men. _Less often_ , not _never_ ; he'd gotten used to it, he thought, since King Minos. "Mostly things such as pertains to Eros' domain, I suppose."

It was like a cloud pulled over the woman's face, the perfect sweep of her cheeks and the delicate arch of her eyebrows freezing like marble, though it disappeared so quickly Ganymede almost got dizzy trying to keep up with the changes in her expression.

"You have your heart set on someone, then?" She smiled, and while it didn't seem any different than before, his unease tightened into tension. Ganymede's smile was lopsided, his laugh awkward as he shook his head. Shifted half a step to the side. This was stupid. _He_ was being stupid, even if it was very odd to have such a richly clad woman appear so unexpectedly and with no servants or wagon anywhere nearby.

Strange didn’t mean dangerous! His body didn’t seem to want to listen, but Ganymede tried to tell himself it was fine. Besides, Nikomedes was right by the road. Not that he’d need his help with this!

"Not really, no!" Ganymede managed to not glance over to where Nikomedes stood behind the tree as he waved that question off. Even if he could expect more than kisses out in the sheep grazing fields and a couple curious explorations of hands on eager arousal, it wouldn't be anything besides what it already was. Nikomedes was from one of the finest noble houses in Troy; his family had been among the ones who'd moved with them from Dardanos, and while being as friendly as they were being with each other could hardly be considered such a terrible thing, Nikomedes still had a wife he was by all appearances very happy with. Besides, Ganymede wasn't certain he wanted more than what he'd already gotten, wasn't sure if Nikomedes might expect, or want, more, or if he was satisfied with this, too. If he would want more, what then?

Another additional confusion to consider.

"Oh, I am still lucky, then." Her smile softened and bloomed wider, and the air seemed to lighten around her, nearly sparkling. Ganymede blinked, his skin prickling. When he looked at her again, she was nothing more than she had been when he first saw her. Perhaps it was just the light catching in all her jewellery.

"... Lucky, my lady?" Arching an eyebrow, Ganymede was more bewildered than concerned or wary by now, starting to feel pretty sure she was harmless if a little unsettling. Which was definitely to his own detriment here, for sometimes one really should listen to one’s instincts.

"Indeed!" She laughed, delighted for some reason, and closed the distance between them. Where he before would have sworn that yes, she was somewhat taller than him, it wasn't as much as a full head taller! Long, delicate fingers grabbed his chin, and she tipped his face up with no resistance at all because he hadn't expected this. Then she kissed him.

It was as soft as it wasn't; hungry and firm in a way he hadn't experienced with any of the girls he'd kissed so far, but still lacking... something. Not that that was of great importance at the moment as Ganymede stood, stunned and swept into the kiss much like he had his first one, because there was just no way to deny her.

Then his mind caught up and he... squeaked, as mortifying as that was, though the noise was smothered in the kiss. Shoving his hands and the staff up between them, he pushed. Found himself not able to move her, though in his distraction it seemed less because he wasn't strong enough and more because he surely was just too startled to put enough strength into it. Twisting away, he finally got her to break the kiss, and as his chest heaved with startled breath, she reluctantly let go of his chin. Soft fingertips ghosted along his jaw, cheek, up into his hair and caught a curl, twining her fingers around them.

"... So beautiful. I don't think I've ever seen the like mortal form before."

The words were an instant cold shower. Shaking his head sharply enough his curls flew around him like a sun-bleached cloud, Ganymede stepped back. Or would have, if he wasn't stopped by the fingers in his hair, pinching tighter and leaving him to curse. More startled than pained, really, but it pulled on his scalp either way.

"Please, let go."

She did. Sighing, Ganymede's attention wandered for a split second, looking towards the edge of the meadow and the road, the tree Nikomedes stood behind. Unknowing, just yet, and Ganymede was pretty loath to call attention to himself. It was just a kiss, and she was just a---

"Ah!" Swept up with her arm under his own and over his chest, Ganymede almost smacked himself in the face with his staff the way he was being pressed into her side. She was solid heat along his side and back, right arm pressed into the soft swell of one of her breasts, and he couldn't reach the ground. She wasn’t that tall, was she? Kicking a flailing foot, all he got was grass brushing the tips of his shoes. "What do you--- put me _down_!"

Squirming helped nothing, and she pulled the staff out of his hand with ease. The sun was bright around her, a glow that caught like fire in her hair, lit up like a dawn nearly over, gold and fiery. She was soft, and yet he couldn't move her. Her slender arm was gently rounded, his fingers nearly slipping over petal-soft skin for lack of purchase, and his fingertips dug into gently giving flesh, but she could just as well have been made of sweet-smelling marble for as much as he could do about hanging from her arm. He felt fourteen again.

"Hush, pretty boy, I'll take c---"

The piercing whistle of an eagle lashed the air, then the bird followed, swooping down right in front of them in pursuit of a fleeing rabbit. Strangely, the predator missed, the bird winging itself upwards without its prey with a disappointed shriek. The rabbit dashed through the grass and disappeared into a burrow, just barely avoiding being caught by one of the sheep dogs instead.

"My prince!"

"Wh---what?" Staggering, Ganymede almost fell on his face, but caught his balance, feet back on solid ground. Looked up to see Nikomedes walking over the meadow, his frown just barely visible in the shadow cast by the helmet, boar tusk and bronze plates interlocking and reflecting an interesting interplay of light. "Did you see..."

"See what?" Nikomedes' frown deepened, emphasized by his beard as he stared at him. Glanced around the meadow, an eyebrow disappearing up under the edge of the helmet, then back to Ganymede. "You should collect the sheep, we're due to go back for the midday meal."

"Yes, but…" It was Ganymede’s turn to look around. The meadow was empty of anything but his slightly scattered sheep, all accounted for, two dogs, Ganymede himself, Nikomedes standing in front of him, and the staff on the ground. There was a pattern in the grass, slowly being erased as the grass shifted up with no weight there to press down on it, that suggested someone _had_ been there. Someone a lot heavier than Ganymede or Nikomedes was, for the grass was parted around the two of them, not crushed. The wind shifted, taking with it the last strains of unfamiliar sweetness.

"Ganymede?"

Jumping a little at the hand on his shoulder, Ganymede looked up, into Nikomedes' solid, concerned face and found a smile, if somewhat tense and lopsided.

"I'm fine. I think I fell asleep. Let me get the sheep."

Asleep? No, definitely not. Looking around the meadow again as he called the dogs to himself and set them on collecting the sheep, Ganymede licked his lips. You didn't dream up something like that. 

He wouldn't like to assume, but... that woman couldn't have been mortal. Not _human_. She’d been too tall, too strong, her beauty too perfect, thinking back on it. And if she wasn't mortal, and hadn't been startled away, what then? You couldn't ask, even less demand, one of the Deathless Ones to just... put you back and leave you alone if they took a fancy to you for whatever reason. Not if you didn't get away before they got their hands on you, anyway. He'd been really, really lucky. Silently counting the sheep as the dogs drove them past him towards the road, Ganymede sighed, shifting his shoulders in an attempt at easing lingering tension. 

Glanced up at the sky, but the only thing to be seen besides clouds might be the disappearing speck of the unfortunate eagle, deprived of its lunch.


	8. The Eagle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giant eagle harasses teenager, news at eleven.
> 
> Ganymede's luck runs out. Or maybe that's just fate finally catching up. Maybe it won't be so bad, though..?

The royal Shepherd Cottage on the western side of Mount Ida, surrounded by high, swaying fir trees, was a charming, if isolated, place. Ganymede had taken an instant liking to it, despite soon rather missing both family, friends, and normal routine. Well, _most_ of his normal routine; one tutor had come along for the last half of this sheep herding business, and the captain of the handful of guards present was making sure he didn't neglect his weapon's training, unfortunately. Last half of this task, but not entirely. He'd still be herding the sheep next year as well, also partially here at the Cottage, for a longer stretch then, too. Ganymede rather wished it was already at that point, because at least he would be up on the mountain earlier in the year. It was late enough in summer to be oppressively hot, now, even up here where the wind was still usually cool.

Knowing at what point during the year he'd be stuck at the Cottage for, Ganymede had asked his father if he could just cut this whole business short if he told him he understood the point of the lesson that was being taught. Tros had looked at him, lips pressed together in an attempt at hiding his smile, and mildly asked if he really understood the lesson, and the importance of it, if he was trying to get out of this part merely due to some discomfort.

Ganymede had had to concede defeat.

His father wasn't even wrong, and he understood it from the lesson's point of view as well, so it was in a way even more important he actually go through with it if he really did understand. It was just hot. Disgustingly, awfully hot. The wind wasn’t helping either, as it made it both hot and cold, necessitating the tunic but at the same time leaving him to suffer in the hot sunshine. At least now, up here, his father had felt confident enough that the only guards nearby were down at the Cottage, leaving him alone on the mountain meadow.

All this just to prove he understood the burdens and responsibility of rule in a very visceral, small-scale way. He wasn't even going to be on the throne! Which, now he just sounded like Assaracus, and as much as Ganymede loved his brother, he would rather not, thank you. So, he put up with this, herding his small 'kingdom' of 'people' in the form of sheep along the slope away from the Cottage and found a good spot to let them graze for the day, found a good spot to sit down at, and stared at the sheep. The sheep, currently both nothing more than sheep and at the same time representing the Trojan population. His dogs in this case would be anything from the Gal mesedi, Gal gestin or Gal dubsar, to other high advisors or ministers to assist the king, to those under them who would further delegate the orders to the people that ultimately had come from the king himself. Easy. Boring. Two more months of this, then another half a year next year.

Sighing, Ganymede leaned back on the rock, propping himself up against it while balancing the shepherd's staff over his thighs, and stared up at the sky.

Wind that wasn't yet felt down here drove huge, fluffy clouds and high, thin veils of them over the bright blue, empty but for a bird of prey lazily circling above. It was too high up to see what kind it was, but it felt like a good omen. He'd seen another one up in one of the firs when he'd left the Cottage this morning, large enough to have bent the tree impressively. _That_ one had probably been an eagle, at least. The one up there now... Ganymede squinted, then shrugged.

All he could see was the shadowed underside, a dark speck with broad wings spread out. Hard to tell anything from that. Must be some interesting prey in the nearby surroundings though, the way it kept circling.

Dropping his gaze back down, Ganymede sighed as he checked the sheep and whistled one of the dogs to him. It lumbered over to him with a certain laziness to its steps, tongue hanging out and swinging. Leaning forward as it came up to him, he caught it by the face and scrubbed its ears.

"You're doing a good job, Lampourgos, despite how hot it is. Go round up those naughty would-be escapees for me, okay?" Smiling, he kissed Lampourgos on top of his head and sent him off, watching him suddenly run off like it _wasn't_ nearly too hot to move. The sheep towards that way bleated, shifting and then actually started to move, even before Lampourgos had reached them. At first Ganymede thought nothing of it, but then they _kept_ moving and Maira started barking, hesitating between the sheep and his own position. The bleating had now spread to the whole flock, as well, insistent and nervous. 

Frowning, Ganymede looked around. He could see no enterprising wolves or leopard hiding in the shadow of the scattered boulders around the meadow, or up closer to the edges of it, where there was more cover. So what...

A shadow rushed past over the fluttering grass, huge, but the sun was high in the sky and would cast large shadows depending on from where one stood. Ganymede looked up just as the eagle came down, cutting alongside the meadow mere meters above the sheep. Maira jumped, her jaws snapping closed on air in the eagle's passing.

“Hey!” Shooting up off his seat, Ganymede was relieved Maira hadn’t bit down on anything and risked being carried off. Even just one of those claws were as long as his whole hand! Shielding his eyes with a hand, Ganymede stared, incredulous and in awe, as the eagle rose up in the air again. Passed by one of the few firs still standing this high up, which emphasized he hadn't dreamed up its size.

"Gods. It’s so large... What the---!"

The eagle dove again, and Ganymede would probably have been gored had he not thrown himself to the ground. The eagle's passing whipped his hair and the grass around him, snapping at his arms and legs, and he lifted himself up to a meadow in uproar. The sheep were fleeing in any direction the insistently swooping eagle _wasn't_ coming from, Lampourgos was following the sheep, and Maira...

"Maira, no!" Ganymede clambered to his feet as the dog jumped again, just barely missing the eagle's leg once more and thus those wicked claws. Cursing, he whistled until she came to him and he gently smacked her side, then gestured her after the fleeing sheep. She growled, then went. Not that Ganymede was waiting for much more than that, himself. Leaving the staff where it'd fallen, Ganymede took off across the meadow after his dogs and sheep, his heart up in his throat. Was it too much to hope for that the eagle would take one of the sheep and just ignore him? Surely a sheep would be more to its taste, and a more familiar prey?

He saw the shadow descending first and had time to throw himself sideways, rolling over the grass with a pained grunt. Scrambled to his feet, rounded one of the huge boulders. Briefly considered squatting next to it, but even if it was some protection, it wouldn't offer enough from the eagle. He'd need a cave or crevice for that, but he didn't want to run further up the mountain!

Ganymede's goal was to go in the direction most of the sheep had fled in; back towards the Cottage. Spears and arrows would surely convince even an eagle as large as this one that it was better to find food elsewhere.

If he could just avoid it for long enough.

Now, why the damn eagle hadn't flown off in pursuit of the sheep, Ganymede didn't have a clue. The situation seemed kind of ridiculous, even with his breath stuck in his throat as choked gasps and his heart fleeing before him, as he ran in loping zigzags over the meadow. 

The eagle would dive, Ganymede would veer off, either losing his balance or sometimes having to throw himself to the ground. Ganymede would then get up, try to turn back in the direction he was going, the eagle would dive, rinse, repeat.

"What is your _problem_? Do I _look like a damn sheep_?" Fear and anger blended together until he was yelling up at the eagle, who, _surely not_ , cocked its head to peer down at him for a split second before it dove again. Changing direction, Ganymede wheezed as he ran around another boulder. 

He was slowing. He knew he was. Worse, he was now beyond the spot he'd been sitting earlier, two thirds up the meadow and farther away from the Cottage than before the eagle had made a mess of his perfectly pleasantly boring mid-morning!

His legs ached and his lungs burned.

Ganymede finally had to just _stop_. He leaned over with his hands propped on his knees and gulped down breath after breath while his legs shook, protesting being forced to keep holding him upright. It was hard to catch his breath when he expected a shadow to fall over him any second now, for claws to tear into his back, a beak to his neck.

That didn’t happen.

Instead, when the eagle did come down, it landed with ponderous grace on the same rock he'd been sitting on earlier. The nearby staff, where it lay discarded in the grass, looked ridiculously small next to the eagle, sunlight pouring down on it like it was glowing. It was, Ganymede could see now as he slowly straightened up, his chest still heaving but at least able to breathe again, a golden eagle. The gleaming cap of golden brown feathers that crowned its head was startling against the motley of darker brown of its body, and its huge claws had scored furrows into the rock. Huge _bronze_ claws. Eagles didn’t have claws of bronze.

Whether they did or not, this one was still ruining his perfect seat. He'd have to find a new rock to sit on, and such things weren't easy to find!

What a ridiculous thought to have, but nothing else came to mind as Ganymede stared at the eagle, wide-eyed and more baffled at the eagle's behaviour than afraid by now, but fear was still a cold knot in his gut.

"Prince Ganymede of Troy, son of Tros, get of Dardanos." 

The air seemed to tremble around the voice, great and awful as it was, but it had no seeming source. Or, no seeming _reasonable_ source. Ganymede looked around trying to find something, anything, that would make sense, but the rocky meadow contained no boulders large enough for a grown man to hide behind without betraying his presence, and the few firs nearby were still too far away for the voice to sound so clear. 

The only possibility, then, was the eagle. 

Ganymede slowly turned back to look at the eagle where it was perched on his rock, vast like the mountain itself it seemed like. Golden eagles weren't supposed to be the size of a man. It wasn’t just its claws that gleamed bronze in the light instead of the usual colours, but its beak as well, and the huge, silvery eyes glowed like mist lit from within by some secret fire. What eagle had _gray eyes_? As Ganymede met that unblinking stare, he was, finally, unable to move. It didn’t really have anything to do with being too exhausted to do so; his tired thighs trembled with the need to run, or drop to the grass, maybe. His hands itched, and he flexed his fingers, but moving otherwise was entirely impossible. He could barely breathe!

"The world has not seen the like of your beauty before, godlike in form, more than befitting your divine heritage. Such things should not be squandered on a brief life." The eagle cocked its head, the beak bared only a shade and not otherwise moving as the words rolled out around them, lacking an echo but still rumbling in the air, along the ground and up into Ganymede's legs. He blamed the quaver in them that he tried to suppress on that voice instead of the fear. "The Deathless Ones would be honoured to have a sight such as you would give, and Troy would be honoured in the offering of it."

Troy? What about _him_? Blessed Apaliunas, what was his father going to say about this? Or do? What could he even do, when this was coming from _an eagle_ \- though it couldn't be an eagle, or not a normal one. Not with what it was saying.

Gods---

Ganymede shook his head slowly, swallowing against the knotted obstruction in his throat, and opened his mouth - the eagle shrieked, a piercing, trilling cry, and threw itself with a heavy beat of its great wings from the rock it was perched on. Right at him. Whether he could not, or _would not_ move, Ganymede couldn't tell. It wasn't until feathers came about him, his hair half blinding him as it was buffeted by the wingbeats, until huge, wickedly curved claws closed with surprising gentleness around his hips, that Ganymede so much as twitched. He slid one foot back, slipping against the grass, but intending to wrench himself away. Was instead forced to throw his arms around the eagle's neck as it launched them both upwards in a way he was sure no bird was capable of doing, but what did the limitations of real birds apply here?

Smothering his high, fluttering breath among feathers soft like the finest silk and smelling of something sharp and sweet, Ganymede caught one glance over his shoulder at the ground below. One of the Cottage's guards and the shepherd that usually tended the flocks were coming up onto the meadow, one of the two dogs that'd ran off when the eagle landed running alongside them. Probably Maira, but it was already hard to tell.

The ground was very far away.

Ganymede's stomach twisted, turned, _clenched_ , and he burrowed his face against the eagle's neck, squeezing his eyes shut. He might have made a noise, but if so it was smothered by the feathers. The claws clutching his hips tightened, which, contrary to assumption, actually felt rather reassuring despite the protesting shift of the fabric caught in them, threatening to tear.

"Peace, Ganymede. You’re safe. I wouldn't let you fall."

Ganymede might, or might not, have made some noise in the back of his throat, incredulity fighting up against shock and better judgement, though at least the only response was a quiet, weirdly trilling noise from the eagle. Still, he was certainly not dropped, and the wind pulled at him as much as it pressed him against the warm, feathery body of the eagle. His legs, though, were hanging free, his thighs whipped by the fringe decorating the bottom hem. Despite lacking anything to restrain them his legs were nearly as immobile as his hips were thanks to the wind holding them in a tight grip. It should be cold, shouldn't it?

It wasn't.

Hesitantly, Ganymede looked over his shoulder, past the wild dance of his hair. Under him, there was only air. Far below that there was the flattening foothills around Mount Ida and her attendant peaks. The summer-punished fields spread out beyond like a lady's flounced skirt, decorated with the dark green embroidery of trees. From above, the boughs made them look kind of fluffy.

The houses in their little villages were _tiny_ ; it looked like he could have picked a whole village up in one hand if he reached out for it. The road leading from the mountain towards Troy was a white band, only distinguishable from the Scamander by the glaring glitter of sunlight on the water. 

Once or twice, he might have wondered what things looked like for birds, flying so high above, unrestrained by the limits of roads or rivers or forests. He might also have wondered what it might be like to see it, but it'd been idle, impossible curiosity; the sky was the domain of birds and gods, not _humans_. Yet here he was, the ground spreading out below him in a dizzying quilt, like the finest cloth his mother's clever fingers could produce. It was beautiful.

"Oh." The eased out of him like sweet breath, disappearing among the feathers, to the wind.

The eagle shrieked and abruptly changed its path. Ganymede didn't understand why, at first, but then he caught the first couple buildings, a glitter of water more vast than the Scamander or Simoeis. The thrust of the walled promontory, sturdy and vast, the buildings within so small from this height but Ganymede knew them to be sprawling.

Troy.

The eagle beat a long, lazy circle around the city, from the outer edges of where the sprawl had long since spilled past the citadel, along the harbour, ships bobbing like sticks thrown to float on a stream, then the path cut over the green stretches around the palace buildings. There was no chance he could actually see anyone from this high up, the people even smaller than the buildings. Ganymede still fancied he could guess that the two tiny figures dashing across an inner courtyard might be Ilus and Assaracus, still imagined that he could pick out the windows of his mother's quarters, where she'd be sitting with her handmaidens and Cleomestra. His father would probably be holding court, right now. None of them knew... would they ever know?

His thoughts were startled into nothingness when the eagle turned away after a second circling around the city, and Ganymede tightened his grip around the eagle's neck, having no other way to draw its attention. Desperate again, the fear had slid from his limbs into in his gut instead of freezing him unmoving, though he was still cold.

"Wait! _Please_!"

Not a physical cold, despite the way the wind tore at them, but a cold that made his stomach heavy, settling right next to the clawing desperation. Reluctantly, he looked up, away from the disappearing shape of Troy, familiar but completely alien from this high up, and met the eagle's eerie gray stare again. He saw nothing - not even his own reflection in the huge eye, just silver, a shifting of it like mist, the swirl of wind made visible. The eagle squeezed his hips and then turned its gaze away.

No waiting. Of course. He'd known that, he _had_ , but seeing Troy, which had been a gift to begin with, had made it impossible not to ask. Beg, more like, but he couldn't be embarrassed for it; he'd begged before, though that time he'd been heeded. 

Below them, water spread like a veil embroidered with gems or pearls, sparkling in the sunlight. When Ganymede looked down and behind him, he could no longer see land at all, and, more than that, there was now occasionally fine puffs of white underneath them, or, far more startling, right by them. They even flew straight through drifting veils of said white, cool and clammy, like mist.

Clouds.

 _Clouds_ , they were now high enough they were flying through clouds and this was no place for a mortal! Nothing he could do about it, though. Well, aside from letting go, but even just the thought of it merely made him clutch tighter around the eagle's neck, provoking an answering squeeze around his hips.

... Was that grip a little lower than before? Ganymede was pretty sure the claws hadn't been half curving around his ass earlier.

The idea was so startlingly outrageous he completely forgot the growing fear for consternation, flushing a little instead. The grip absolutely _was_ lower and more towards his back than it had been to start with. Another incredulous noise slipped out of him, and he just... slumped against the eagle, burrowing his face back into the thick fluffiness of the feathers around the base of the eagle's neck. There was nothing else he could do.

The view below blurred with speed Ganymede didn't notice, the water covered by clouds. Islands flashed past far below, then the mainland grew into view. It was a sight, certainly, as the eagle turned to fly along the coast, but the speed took away the chance to take in the majesty of it, land and water flickering by far faster than any bird might be able to fly. It still took more time than it might otherwise have, in deference to the precious and very mortal cargo clinging to the giant bird, but Ganymede _did_ look up when the air changed. 

Breathing in, he blinked. Something smelled fragrant and sweet. Not... flowery, really, but a light sweetness that eased something in his gut, made his wind-whipped limbs not feel as stiff and his eyes a little less tired. There were peaks below them now, clad in a golden-green shimmer - it was strange, Ganymede could tell there were little villages spread out on the slopes of the mountain they were flying along, but at the same time there was nothing but wilderness in the same place and, then, a wall. There was no other way to describe the huge edifice. The eagle flew in through a crack in the impossibly large doors, sped past a wide, winding road and the shining, sprawling buildings that sat along it.

Was it any wonder that when they flew over the largest collection of buildings, interconnected and sprawling, that the eagle then slowed to coasting in a lazy, descending spiral? Not really.

Ganymede still wasn't entirely ready when his feet touched soft, thick grass and the eagle let go. He staggered, down to a knee, then caught his balance, barely dared to touch the ground as he did so and stood up, turning towards the shadow behind him as the eagle landed. He was only mortal, what business had he to touch... anything, on Olympos? Uncertain and rattled, Ganymede looked towards the eagle, landing a few steps away. The bird turned into a man - a _god_ , a very particular god, as Ganymede had known it would, must, and ill-advised or not, his stomach turned to liquid, sloshing golden warmth all the way out to his fingertips as he looked up at him.

He'd been confused and wary, then afraid, and now... Well, now... Ganymede stared, and found himself rather dumbstruck.

Light tipped with charged sparks of lightning crowned the silky fall of wavy dark hair that fell to broad shoulders as much as the golden wreath of oak leaves around the god's head did, backlighting gray eyes and warming olive skin with an internal glow. Ganymede had to tip his head back to see anything further, for Zeus standing at his full divine height had the top of Ganymede’s head only reaching near the bottom of his chest. Talking of chests; Zeus’ was broad, hard against the softer curve of its muscular definition, and above that a strong throat crowned by a neat, carelessly half-curling, short beard. He had to tip his head back even a little further than that to see past the generous mouth, lips soft but the line of them stiff in a thoughtful frown more than a smile, then a straight, commanding nose. Almost looked away, down, when he _did_ meet Zeus' gaze, for completely aside from the fact that doing so was definitely too presumptuous, his knees almost gave under the narrow intensity of the divine stare.

Ganymede straightened his back and lifted his chin against the slight quaver in his knees, his gut. Determined for some dignity no matter what happened now and was rewarded with Zeus tipping his head slightly, an almost birdlike gesture to call back to the form he'd had just moments ago. Hopefully it _was_ to be considered a reward and not a prelude to getting thrown right off the mountain for actually being presumptuous. 

Maybe that would be better? 

He didn't know. Ganymede opened his mouth, for as patient as he could be in both better and other less ideal circumstances, right then and there he couldn't quite find the needed equilibrium for thoughtful expectation. He _would_ rather want to know if he'd already done something wrong or not. He snapped his mouth closed when Zeus reached out, gray eyes tracking down to his mouth and then back up to meet Ganymede's, and fingertips, light as a feather, brushed against his jaw. Up to his cheek, and then a large palm cradled his face. His skin prickled from the gentle touch.

"No more running, my prince?"

Ganymede shivered. It was the exact same voice that'd floated disembodied around the eagle, deep and rolling, but coming from Zeus' mouth, it seemed to have gained some further resonance. He wasn't standing close enough to feel it rumble in his bones, but it felt a little like that anyway. Like the sound of it was making him vibrate from the inside out. He hesitated for a moment, brief and quite anxiety-inducing if he was to be honest, but he also really couldn't pause for long or he'd do something embarrassing like swoon.

"F-father Zeus." Ganymede swallowed, needing the pause to gather more courage, and since he'd already spoken up and hadn't been struck down, he raised his chin. The arched eyebrow that followed was entirely unintentional but too late to restrain it. "A little late for that, isn't it?" 

Already too late when the giant eagle had come down from the sky like a bolt of lightning, but now? More than too late. What did he have to say about what the King of the Gods might want with him? Ganymede's limbs felt itchy, creeping with too much sensation and not enough movement. He didn't know what he wanted to do, or what he wanted to happen. Zeus' gaze was flicking between meeting his own, which speared him right to the spot, a dizzying, breathless weight on him, and down to his mouth. Then up above his eyes somewhere - his hair? - and back down again. There was a little furrow between his thick, sculpted eyebrows as his mouth slowly pulled into half of a grimace, nearly a smile.

"Is it?"

Should that really be a question? Particularly so when a large, solid thumb, soft and smooth over the tip like a flower petal, not a trace of callous to be found, and yet more firm and weighty than any mortal worker's or soldier's hands could ever be, slid over his lips and pressed down there, forestalling any answer. Zeus stared down at him and Ganymede got the sense the question hadn't actually been in answer to him. Not really. Or maybe that was _not only_? Ganymede blinked, wide, green eyes meeting gray, and those gray eyes darkened like a cloud before the sun, causing a prickle to wash down Ganymede's spine.

Zeus leaned in, down, a graceful swoop of his massive body that reminded Ganymede of the eagle he'd been. Ganymede's breath caught as the hand cradling his face slid up, tangled in his curls - even Zeus' hand wasn't large enough not to be swallowed by the generous, hyacinthine swirl of strands. It trapped Ganymede in place, but since he'd slid an arm up over a broad shoulder and was hesitantly clutching to the curve of Zeus' neck, apparently he'd decided he wasn't actually running any more.

The kiss tasted sweet, opened him up and bent him back, taking everything, leaving... something hot that filled Ganymede up like light and was at once both familiar as well as entirely _un_ familiar, dizzying in a way youthful arousal had never left him before, whatever and whoever might have been the cause of it. 

The sensation of Zeus' beard against his chin and cheek was familiar, and despite everything, still caused heat to curl in his gut as it rubbed against his face with the shorter bristles a prickly drag and the longer curls almost caressing in comparison. 

It was just a kiss, and kissing Ganymede had done before, but somehow this kiss was also entirely new.

His first kiss with the King of Crete might have compared in some sense, overwhelming as it had been, but that was still an insult; none of Nikomedes' kisses had swept him away like this. The kisses he'd shared with his friends seemed childish in comparison, and the kisses of the servant girls like pale imitations. The only one that vaguely compared was the one with the woman (goddess, surely) in the meadow, but it was left lacking, still. None of it compared to the way Zeus kissed, the way it felt, fire in his veins and pleasure following, all-consuming. He might be pulling on Zeus' hair a little, unthinkingly trying to press closer, pull the god in just a shade more as if he were nothing but human. Later he might wonder of his daring; right now it passed unnoticed.

Hot, sweet breath wafted over his skin as Zeus finally, slowly, pulled back, Ganymede now standing barely on tiptoe and precariously leaned against Zeus' broad chest and solid abdomen. He needed the support, truly or he’d collapse. They paused there, somewhere halfway between straightened up and Zeus still holding onto him, the hand in Ganymede's hair tightening until he had to tilt his head back with the weight of it.

Surely that shouldn't tug on the tight heat in his belly and threaten to spread fire, even if it didn't hurt in the least?

"No arrow here, I think," Zeus muttered, staring down at him with inscrutable hardness, eyes narrowed and distant before they focused on Ganymede's face again. His heart might have decided to seize for the stare, threatening to give out under it. No arrow? Did that..? What? Why did it feel like that was a bad thing, and he'd done something wrong?

"... My lord?"

Zeus exhaled, a hot blast of breath that somehow made Ganymede feel better as it washed over him. Zeus finally straightened up and he was, with precise and careful gentleness, put on his feet. A hand lingered in the small of his back and another on his shoulder, letting him catch his balance properly.

"Only you and your godlike perfection have drawn me, and yet it might be too late to run," Zeus said, which didn't exactly explain anything at all, and Ganymede couldn't help but cock his head, eyebrows arched, but wasn't quite daring enough to question out loud. Zeus chuckled wryly, letting go of his shoulder finally to lightly brush his cheek. "You won't regret it."

Wouldn't he?

Ganymede took a breath which shook all the way down into his gut, and let it out slowly, marginally more steady. Dipped his head, away from the stare, his lips still tingling from the kiss.

"I'm sure I'll have no cause to, Piḫaššaššiš," Ganymede said, earnest and as surprised for it as he had mostly intended to be polite. Really did hope he wouldn't come to regret it, and honestly so, too. Not just because he was _here_ , now, and there was really no easy turning away from that, aside from all the problems that might come with that. Wondering too if, how, he could go back if this went badly. Hoped as well for all that had been summarily left behind so suddenly (he hoped they'd all be all right). There was also an entirely confused tangle in his chest that made him hesitantly hope for a more personal, if ill-advised reason. Should a kiss alone do that, even if it the kiss had come from the King of the Gods? Should he feel ashamed for it, like he had the first time? Should he hope it went away? Should he revel in it? 

It was, either way, something that became heavier as the hand at the small of his back pressed more firmly against him, turning him around and guided him down the garden path towards the building beyond.

There was nowhere to go but forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> piḫaššaššiš - Epithet (usually) belonging to the Luwian god Tarhunz, but in this case, since my version of myto-realistic Troy worship both Greek and Luwian deities, it's been given to Zeus instead. Means "of the thunderbolt".


End file.
